"j'JSiti. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


/ 


c^..<:t  ^     /^/^ 


IVAN   TURGENIEFF 


Volume  VI 


FATHERS  AND 
CHILDREN 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

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littp://www.arcliive.org/details/fatherscliildrenOOturgiala 


THE  NOVELS  AND  STORIES  OF 
IVAN   TimCENIEFF 


FATHERS  AND 
CHILDREN  -fr  •«■ 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE    RUSSIAN   BY 
ISABEL  F.  HAPGOOD 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1903 


She  cast  a  glance  at  Bazdroff. 
From  a  drawing  by  S.  IV AN OW SKI. 


THE  NOVELS  AND  STOKIES  OF 
IVAN    TURGENIEFF 


FATHERS  AND 
CHILDREN  ♦  •«• 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE    RUSSIAN   BY 
ISABEL  F.  HAPGOOD 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1903 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
Charles   Scrirner's  Sods 


Ho3 


PREFACE 

"  Fathers  and  Children "  first  appeared  in 
1862,  the  first  instahnent  being  printed  in  the 
February  (or  March)  number  of  the  Russian 
Messenger.  It  was  an  important  event,  not  only 
in  Russian  literature,  but  also  in  the  personal 
life  of  its  author.  Its  success  transcended  every- 
thing which  had  ever  been  achieved  in  the  Rus- 
sian literary  world,  but  its  contents  served  to 
evoke  prolonged  and  passionate  discussion,  and, 
still  more,  bitter  personal  recrimination.  Turge- 
nieff  was  assailed  from  all  quarters  and  on  every 
point  of  his  romance,  beginning  with  the  word 
"  nihilist,"  which  many  persons  (especially  for- 
eigners) still  believe  to  have  been  of  his  devising. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  Nadezhdin  ^  had  ap- 
plied the  epithet  to  the  poet  Pushkin  in  1829  as 
well  as  to  Polevoy  and  other  representatives  of 
hterary  romanticism,  and  Turgenieff  merely 
adopted  it  in  Order  to  characterise  the  new  social 
type  which  he  was  introducing.  The  "  Fathers  " 
were  displeased  with  their  portraits,  while  the 
"  Children "  showered  down  upon  the  author 
sharp  reproaches,  and  called  the  man  whom  they 

^  Nadezhdin,  a  many-sided  savant  and  critic.   Polevoy,  a  promi- 
nent journalist. — Thansiatob. 


721.8C7 


PREFACE 

had  so  lately  been  revering  as  the  destroyer  of 
serfdom,  "  a  traitor  to  the  cause  of  freedom." 
The  Russian  students  at  Heidelberg,  of  whom 
there  were  many  at  that  period,  even  decided 
to  call  Turgenieff  to  account,  and  demand  from 
him  an  explanation  as  to  the  meaning  and  aim  of 
his  romance.  TurgeniefF  accepted  the  chal- 
lenge, journeyed  expressly  from  Baden-Baden 
to  Heidelberg,  and  furnished  the  explanation 
in  the  presence  of  a  throng  of  his  accusers — the 
explanation  being  approximately  the  same  as 
that  which  he  afterward  printed.  All  these,  and 
many  other  unpleasantnesses,  produced  such  an 
oppressive  effect  upon  TurgeniefF  that  he  began 
seriously  to  meditate  withdrawing  from  his  lit- 
erary career.  This  desire  to  abandon  literature 
is  painfully  expressed  in  the  lyrical  fragment, 
"It  is  Enough!"  (1864). 

The  situation  was  well  summed  up  in  an  arti- 
cle, dating  from  1862,  by  N.  N.  Strakhoff:^ 
"  When  the  romance  *  Fathers  and  Children  * 
made  its  appearance,  people  suddenly  attacked  it 
with  feverish  and  persistent  questions :  *  Whom 
does  it  praise?  Whom  does  ^t  condemn?  Which 
of  the  characters  is  a  model  for  imitation?  What 
sort  of  a  romance  is  it — progressive  or  retro- 
grade? *  And  on  this  theme  innumerable  discus- 
sions arose.    The  matter  was  carried  to  the  point 

^  A  well-known  Russian  philosophical  writer — ^a  delightful  man, 
for  whose  acquaintance  in  Russia  I  was  indebted  to  Count  L.  N. 
Tolstoy.  — Teanslatob. 

vi 


PREFACE 

of  particulars,  to  the  pettiest  details :  *  Ba- 
zarofF  drinks  champagne!' — '  Bazaroff  plays 
cards!' — 'Bazaroff  is  negligent  in  his  dress!' 
*  What  is  the  meaning  of  it? '  people  asked  in 
perplexity.  'Ought  he  to  do  so,  or  ought  he 
not?*  Each  person  settled  the  question  in  his 
own  way,  but  every  body  regarded  it  as  indis- 
pensable to  deduce  a  moral  and  jot  it  down  at 
the  end  of  an  enigmatical  fable.  But  the  decis- 
ions thus  arrived  at  turned  out  absolutely  incon- 
gruous. Some  think  that  *  Fathers  and  Chil- 
dren '  is  a  satire  on  the  young  generation,  that 
all  the  author's  sympathies  are  on  the  side  of  the 
fathers.  Others  say  that  it  is  the  fathers  who  are 
ridiculed  and  discredited  in  the  romance,  while 
the  rising  generation,  on  the  contrary,  is  extolled. 
Some  think  that  Bazaroff  himself  is  to  blame  for 
his  unfortunate  relations  to  the  people  with  whom 
he  comes  in  contact ;  others  assert  that,  on  the  con- 
trary, those  people  are  responsible  for  Bazaroff 
finding  life  difficult.  .  .  In  spite  of  all  this,  the 
romance  is  being  eagerly  read  and  is  arousing 
more  interest,  one  may  venture  to  say,  than  any 
work  of  Turgenieff  up  to  this  time." 

Let  us  now  turn  to  what  Turgenieff  himself 
has  to  say  about  his  book.  In  a  letter  to  Y.  P. 
Polonsky  (the  poet),  dated  "  Paris,  January  24 
(O.  S.),  1862,"  he  says:  "  My  novel  has  been  de- 
spatched to  the  Russian  Messenger  and  will 
probably  appear  in  the  February  number.— I 

vii 


PREFACE 

expect  to  be  well  reviled,  but  I  am  pretty  indif- 
ferent on  that  score."  F.  M.  Dostoievsky,  the 
great  author,  and  A.  N.  MaikoiF,  the  noted  poet, 
delighted  him  by  thoroughly  understanding  his 
novel,  as  he  tells  them  in  letters  dated  in  March  of 
that  year.  But  most  interesting  is  his  letter  of 
April  14-26  to  K.  K.  Slutchevsky,*  who  had 
written  to  him  concerning  the  bad  impression 
which  "  Fathers  and  Children  "  had  made  on  the 
students  at  Heidelberg  University: 

"  I  am  very  anxious  that  there  should  be  no  misunder- 
standing as  to  my  intentions,"  he  writes.  "  I  answer 
point  by  point. 

"  1.  Your  first  reproach  reminds  me  of  the  one  made 
to  Gogol  and  others,  because  good  people  do  not  re- 
produce themselves  in  bad  descendants. — But  BazarofF, 
nevertheless,  crushes  all  the  other  characters  in  the  ro- 
mance. .  .  .  The  qualities  ascribed  to  him  are  not  ac- 
cidental. I  wished  to  make  him  a  tragic  personage — 
there  was  no  place  for  tenderness  there.  He  is  honest, 
upright,  and  a  democrat  to  the  very  tips  of  his  finger- 
nails. But  you  find  no  good  sides  in  him.  '  Stoff  und 
Kraft '  he  recommends  precisely  because  it  is  a  popular, 
that  is  to  say,  a  futile  book;  the  duel  with  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch  is  introduced  precisely  for  the  purpose  of  demon- 
strating, at  a  glance,  the  triviality  of  elegantly-noble 
chivalry,  which  is  set  forth  in  an  almost  exaggeratedly- 

1  Slutch^vsky,  a  well-known  poet.  After  retiring  from  the  g^uards 
he  went  abroad  and  studied  at  various  universities,  including  that  of 
Heidelberg,  there  winning  his  degree  of  Ph.  D.  On  his  return  to 
Russia  he  served  in  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior,  and  in  1891  was  the 
editor-in-chief  of  the  Oovemmental  Messenger.— TRAvauLTon. 

viii 


PREFACE 

comic  manner ;  and  he  could  not  get  out  of  it,  for  P^vel 
Petrovitch  would  have  thrashed  him. — Bazaroff,  in  my 
opinion,  constantly  defeats  Pavel  Petrovitch,  and  not 
the  other  way  about;  and  if  he  calls  himself  a  nihilist, 
the  word  must  be  read:  a  revolutionist. 

"  2.  What  you  have  said  about  Arkady,  about  the 
rehabilitation  of  the  fathers,  and  so  forth,  merely 
proves — pardon  me! — that  I  have  not  been  under- 
stood. My  whole  novel  is  directed  against  the  nobility 
as  the  leading  class.  Look  more  closely  at  the  characters 
of  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  Pavel  Petrovitch,  and  Arkady — 
weakness  and  languor  and  limitedness.  The  aesthetic 
sense  made  me  select  precisely  good  representatives  of 
the  nobility,  in  order  that  I  might  the  more  surely  prove 
my  point:  if  the  cream  is  bad,  what  about  the  milk.?  It 
would  be  coarse — le  pont  aux  dnes — and  not  true  to 
nature  to  take  officials,  generals,  thieves,  and  so  forth. 
All  the  genuine  repudiators  whom  I  have  known — 
without  exception  (Byelinsky,  Bakunin,  Hertzen,  Do- 
broliuboff,  SpyeshnefF,^  and  so  forth) —  sprang  from 
comparatively  kind  and  honourable  parents,  and  therein 
is  contained  a  great  thought :  this  removes  from  the 
actors,  from  the  repudiators,  every  shadow  of  personal 
wrath,  of  personal  irritation.  They  go  their  own  way 
simply  because  they  are  more  sensitive  to  the  demands 

^  ByeUnsky,  the  most  noted  of  Russian  critics.  Bakunin,  a  noted 
revolutionist,  debarred  from  returning  to  Russia.  Hertzen,  who 
wrote  under  the  name  of  "  Iskander,"  a  famous  publicist  and  revolu- 
tionist. DobrolidboiF,  the  most  famous  of  the  early  Russian  critics, 
after  Byelinsky.  Spyeshneff,  one  of  the  most  famous  men  connected 
with  the  Petrashdvsky  conspiracy .  He  was  banished  to  Siberia,  where, 
later  on,  he  filled  governmental  positions,  and  was  the  editor-in-chief 
of  the  Irkutsk  Governmental  News.  Ogaryoff,  a  well-known  poet, 
and  writer  on  positivism  and  economical  subjects.  Stoljfpin,  a  writer, 
1818-1893.     Esakoff,  an  artist  and  academician. — Translator. 

ix 


PREFACE 

of  popular  life. — Young  Count  S.  is  wrong  when  he 
says  that  persons  like  Nikolai  Petr6vitch  and  Pavel 
Petrovitch  are  our  grandfathers:  Nikolai  Petrovitch  is 
I  myself,  OgaryofF  and  thousands  of  others;  Pavel  Pe- 
trovitch is  Stolypin,  EsakofF,  Bosset, — also  our  con- 
temporaries. They  are  the  best  of  the  nobles — and 
precisely  for  that  reason  were  chosen  by  me  for  the 
purpose  of  proving  their  insolvency.  To  depict  on 
the  one  hand  bribe-takers,  on  the  other  an  ideal  young 
man — let  others  draw  that  picture.  ...  I  wanted  more 
than  that. — In  one  place  I  made  BazarofF  say  to 
Arkady  (I  excluded  it  on  account  of  the  censure), 
to  that  same  Arkady  in  whom  your  Heidelberg  com- 
rades descry  the  most  successful  type,  '  Thy  father  is 
an  honest  fellow ;  but  even  were  he  the  very  worst  sort  of 
a  bribe-taker,  thou  wouldst  nevertheless  have  gone  no 
further  than  well-bred  submission  or  ebullition,  be- 
cause thou  art  a  noble.* 

**  8.  O  Lord !  Madame  Kukshin,  that  caricature,  is, 
in  your  opinion,  the  Tnost  successful  of  all! — To  that 
there  is  no  answer. — Madame  Odintzoff  falls  in  love 
just  as  little  with  Arkady  as  with  Bazaroff, — how  is 
it  that  you  do  not  see  that?  She,  also,  is  a  represen- 
tative of  our  idle,  dreamy,  curious,  and  epicurean  noble 
ladies — our  gentlewomen.  Countess  Salyas  has  under- 
stood that  personage  with  perfect  clearness.  She  would 
like  first  to  stroke  the  fur  of  the  wolf  (Bazaroff),  if 
only  he  would  not  bite — then  the  curls  of  the  little  boy 
— and  to  go  on  lying,  well  washed,  on  velvet. 

"  4.  Bazaroff *s  death  (which  Countess  Salyas  calls 
heroic  and  then  criticises)  was  intended,  according  to 
my  calculations,  to  apply  the  final  trait  to  his  tragic 
figure.    But  your  young  men  think  it  is  accidental! 

X 


PREFACE 

"  I  will  conclude  with  the  following  remark :  If  the 
reader  does  not  fall  in  love  with  Bazaroff,  with  all  his 
roughness,  heartlessness,  pitiless  aridity  and  harshness, 
— if  the  reader  does  not  fall  in  love  with  him,  I  re- 
peat,— I  am  to  blame,  and  have  not  attained  my  aim. 
But  I  would  not  grow  syrupy,  to  use  his  words,  al- 
though thereby  I  should,  in  all  probability,  have  in- 
stantly won  all  the  young  people  to  my  side.  I  did  not 
wish  to  make  a  bid  for  popularity  by  concessions  of 
that  sort.  It  is  better  to  lose  the  battle  (and,  appar- 
ently, I  have  lost  it)  than  to  win  it  by  a  trick.  I  had 
conceived  a  great,  grim,  wild  figure,  half  grown  out 
of  the  soil,  powerful,  malicious,  honest,  and  yet  doomed 
to  destruction  because,  nevertheless,  it  is  still  standing 
at  the  outer  doors  of  the  future — I  had  conceived  of  a 
sort  of  strange  pendant  to  the  Pugatchyoffs,^  and  so 
forth — but  my  youthful  contemporaries  say  to  me,  shak- 
ing their  heads  the  while :  '  Thou  hast  made  a  mistake, 
niy  good  fellow,  and  hast  even  insulted  us;  thy  Ar- 
kady has  turned  out  better — thou  wert  wrong  not  to 
take  still  more  pains  with  him.'  All  that  is  left  for 
me  to  do  is,  as  in  the  gipsy  song,  *  Doff  my  cap  and 
bow  full  low.'  So  far,  only  the  two  persons  who  have 
understood  Bazaroff, — that  is  to  say,  have  understood 
my  intentions — are  Dostoievsky  and  V.  P.  Botkin.^  I 
shall  try  to  send  you  a  copy  of  my  novel,  and  now, 
basta  on  this  subject.  ... 

"  I  shall  not  be  passing  through  Heidelberg,  but  I 
should  like  to  take  a  look  at  the  young  Russians  there. 
Give  them  my  regards,  although  they  consider  me  be- 

1  Pugatchyoff,   the  leader  of  an  extensive  rebellion  in   Eastern 
Russia,  under  Katherine  II. — Translator. 

2  Bdtkin,  a  writer  on  art  and  foreign  literature. — Translator. 

xi 


PREFACE 

hind  the  times.  Tell  them,  that  I  beg  them  to  wait  a 
little  while  longer  before  they  pronounce  a  final  verdict. 
You  may  show  this  letter  to  whomsoever  you  please. 


In  1868  TurgeniefF,  in  his  "  Literary  Remi- 
niscences," gave  the  following  succinct  history  of 
his  famous  novel  from  its  inception : 

"  I  was  taking  sea-baths  at  Ventnor,  a  small  town  on 
the  Isle  of  Wight  in  the  month  of  August,  1860,  when 
there  occurred  to  me  the  first  idea  of  '  Fathers  and 
Children,'  of  that  novel  thanks  to  which  the  young  gen- 
eration of  Russians  has  ceased — and,  apparently  forever 
— to  entertain  a  favourable  opinion  of  me.  More  than 
once  have  I  heard  it  said,  and  read  in  critical  articles, 
that  in  my  work  I  '  start  from  an  idea,'  or  '  impose  an 
idea.'  Some  have  lauded  me  for  this;  others,  on  the 
contrary,  have  upbraided  me.  For  my  part,  I  must 
confess  that  I  have  never  attempted  to  '  create  an 
image '  unless  I  had  as  my  point  of  departure  not 
an  idea,  but  a  living  person,  which  was  gradually  al- 
loyed by  the  application  of  befitting  elements.  As  I 
do  not  possess  a  large  share  of  independent  inventive 
power,  I  have  always  required  a  given  soil  whereon  I 
might  firmly  set  my  feet.  This  is  exactly  what  took 
place,  also,  in  the  case  of  '  Fathers  and  Children ' :  at 
the  foundation  of  the  principal  figure,  Bazaroff,  lay  a 
personality  which  had  greatly  impressed  me — that  of  a 
young  country  physician.  (He  died  not  long  before 
1860.)  In  that  remarkable  man  was  incarnated — in  my 
eyes — that  principle,  as  yet  barely  conceived,  and  stiU 
floating,  which  afterward   received  the  appellation   of 

xii 


PREFACE 

nihilism.  The  impression  made  upon  me  by  that  per- 
sonality was  extremely  strong,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
not  quite  clear;  at  first,  I  could  not  fully  account  for 
it  to  myself — and  with  strained  attention  I  listened  and 
watched  everything  which  surrounded  me,  as  though  de- 
sirous of  verifying  the  correctness  of  my  own  percep- 
tions. I  was  perplexed  by  the  following  fact:  in  not  a 
single  production  of  our  literature  did  I  encounter  so 
much  as  a  hint  of  that  which  I  seemed  to  feel  everywhere 
about  me;  I  was  involuntarily  assailed  by  doubts  as  to 
whether  I  were  not  pursuing  a  phantom. 

"  I  remember  that  with  me  on  the  Isle  of  Wight  there 
dwelt  a  Russian  man  gifted  with  extremely  delicate 
taste  and  remarkable  sensitiveness  for  that  which  the 
late  ApoUon  GrigoriefF  called  the  '  emanations  '  of  the 
epoch.  I  imparted  to  him  the  thoughts  which  were  en- 
grossing me — and  with  dumb  amazement  listened  to  the 
following  remark :  '  Why,  I  think  thou  hast  already 
presented  a  similar  type  ....  in  Rudin,  hast  thou 
not  ?  '  I  held  my  peace :  what  was  there  to  be  said  .'* 
Are  Rudin  and  Bazaroff  one  and  the  same  type.'' 

"  These  words  had  such  an  effect  on  me  that  for  the 
space  of  several  weeks  I  avoided  all  meditation  on  the 
work  which  I  had  undertaken;  but,  on  returning  to 
Paris,  I  began  on  it  again — the  fable  had  gradually 
assumed  concrete  form  in  my  mind.  During  the  win- 
ter I  wrote  the  first  chapters,  but  finished  the  novel  in 
Russia,  in  the  country,  in  July.  In  the  autumn  I  read 
it  over  with  several  friends,  made  changes  here  and 
there,  amplified  it,  and  in  March,  1862,  '  Fathers  and 
Children '  made  its  appearance  in  the  Russian  Mes- 
senger. 

"  I  will  not   enlarge   upon   the  impression   produced 

xiii 


PREFACE 

by  that  novel;  I  will  say  only  that  when  I  returned  to 
Petersburg,  on  the  very  day  of  the  famous  burning  of  the 
Apraxin  Bazaar,^  the  word  '  nihilist '  had  already  been 
caught  up  by  thousands  of  voices,  and  the  first  ex- 
clamation which  broke  from  the  lips  of  the  first  acquaint- 
ance whom  I  met  on  the  Nevsky  (Prospekt)  was: 
'  Just  see  what  your  nihilists  are  doing !  They  are 
burning  Petersburg ! '  I  then  experienced  impressions 
of  a  varied  but  all  of  an  equally  painful  nature.  I 
noticed  coldness,  verging  on  indignation,  in  many  per- 
sons near  and  sympathetic  to  me:  I  received  congrat- 
ulations, almost  kisses,  from  persons  of  the  opposite 
camp  to  me,  from  my  enemies.  This  disconcerted  me 
.  .  .  .  grieved  me;  but  my  conscience  did  not  reproach 
me;  I  knew  well  that  I  had  borne  myself  honourably, 
and  not  only  without  prejudice  but  even  with  sym- 
pathetic interest,  toward  the  type  which  I  had  set  forth ;  ^ 
I  had  too  much  respect  for  the  profession  of  artist,  of 
literary  man,  to  act  against  my  conscience  in  such  a 
matter.  The  word  '  respect '  is  even  not  quite  appro- 
priate here.  I  simply  could  not  work  otherwise,  I  did  not 
know  how;  and,  moreover,  there  was  not  reason  for 
so  doing.  My  critics  called  my  novel  a  '  pamphlet,' 
they  alluded  to  '  irritated,'  *  wounded '  self-love ;  but 
why  should  I  write  a  pamphlet  against  Dobroliuboff, 
whom  I  had  hardly  ever  seen,  but  whom  I  valued  highly 
both   as   a   man    and   as   a   talented   writer?      However 

^  A  huge  market  of  lower-class  shops  not  far  from  the  Imperial 
Bank,  the  AnftchkoiF  palace,  and  so  forth.  — Translator. 

2  I  permit  myself  to  quote  the  following  extract  from  my  diary : 
"  June  30,  Sunday.  An  hour  and  a  half  ago  I  finished  ray  romance 
at  last.  ...  I  do  not  know  what  success  it  will  have.  The  Contempo- 
rary, in  all  probability,  will  drench  me  with  scorn  for  BazdrofF,  and 
*  *  will  not  believe  that  during  the  entire  time  of  writing  I  was  not 
involuntarily  aiming  at  him " 

xiv 


PREFACE 

modest  may  have  been  my  opinion  of  my  own  gifts,  I 
nevertheless  always  have  considered  and  do  consider  the 
composition  of  a  pamphlet,  of  a  '  lampoon,'  as  beneath 
it,  unworthy  of  it.  As  for  the  '  wounded '  self-love — 
I  will  remark  merely,  that  DobroliubofF's  article  about 
my  last  production  before  *  Fathers  and  Children  * — 
about  '  On  the  Eve '  (and  he  had  a  right  to  regard 
himself  as  the  representative  of  public  opinion) — that 
that  article,  which  appeared  in  1861,  is  filled  with  the 
warmest,  or,  speaking  as  my  conscience  dictates,  with 
the  most  undeserved  praises.  But  the  critics  felt  bound 
to  represent  me  as  an  offended  pamphletist :  '  leur  siege 
etait  fait.'  .  .  . 

"  The  critics,  in  general,  have  a  far  from  accurate 
conception  of  what  takes  place  in  an  author's  soul,  of 
what,  precisely,  constitutes  his  joy  and  sorrow,  his 
aspirations,  his  success  and  failure  ....  they  will  not 
believe  that  an  author's  highest  happiness  is  to  set  forth 
the  truth,  the  reality  of  life,  powerfully  and  accurately, 
even  when  that  truth  does  not  coincide  with  his  own 
sympathies.  I  permit  myself  to  cite  a  small  instance. 
I  am  a  radical,  incorrigible  advocate  of  Western  meth- 
ods, and  have  never  concealed  that  fact  in  the  slightest 
degree,  and  do  not  conceal  it;  nevertheless,  in  spite  of 
that,  I  set  forth  with  special  satisfaction — in  the  person 
of  Panshin  (in  'A  Nobleman's  Nest') — all  the  comical 
and  trivial  sides  of  Westernism;  I  made  the  Slavyano- 
phil  Lavretzky  '  defeat  him  on  every  point.'  Why  did 
I  do  it, — I,  who  regard  the  Slavyanophil  doctrine  as 
false  and  sterile.''  Because,  in  the  given  case,  'precisely 
in  that  manner,  in  my  opinion,  was  life  ordered,  and 
I  wished,  first  of  all,  to  be  sincere  and  truthful.  In  de- 
lineating the  figure  of  Bazaroff,  I  excluded  from  the 

XV 


PREFACE 

circle  of  his  sympathies  everything  artistic,  I  endowed 
him  with  harshness  and  an  unceremonious  tone,  not  out 
of  an  absurd  desire  to  offend  the  young  genera- 
tion (  !  !  !)  ^  but  simply  in  consequence  of  my  observa- 
tions had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter;  but  probably 
him.  *  This  life  has  moulded  itself  in  this  way,'  expe- 
rience said  to  me  again — erroneously,  it  may  be,  but,  I 
repeat  it,  conscientiously;  there  was  no  occasion  for 
subtilising  on  my  part — and  I  was  obliged  to  depict  his 
figure  in  precisely  that  manner.  My  personal  inclina- 
tions had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter;  but  probably 
many  of  my  readers  will  be  surprised  if  I  tell  them  that, 
with  the  exception  of  his  views  on  art,  I  share  almost 
all  his  convictions.  Yet  people  assert  that  I  side  with 
the  *  Fathers  *...!,  who  in  the  figure  of  Pavel 
Kirsanoff  have  even  sinned  against  artistic  truth  and 
have  laid  on  the  colours  too  thickly,  carried  his  defects 
to  the  point  of  caricature,  made  him  ridiculous ! 

"  The  whole  cause  of  the  misunderstanding,  the  whole 
*  trouble '  as  the  saying  is,  consisted  in  this — that  the 
Bazaroff  type  which  I  presented  had  not  yet  succeeded 
in  passing  through  the  gradual  phases,  through  which 
literary  types  generally  do  pass.  There  did  not  fall 
to  his  lot — as  to  the  lot  of  Onyegin  and  Petchorin  ^ — the 
epoch   of  idealisation,   of  sympathetic   exaltation.     At 

1  Among  the  many  proofs  of  my  "  malice  toward  youth,"  one  critic 
adduced  the  fact  that  I  had  made  Bazdroff  lose  to  Father  Alexy^i  at 
cards.  "As  much  as  to  say,  that  he  does  not  know  how  sufficiently 
to  wound  and  humiliate  him!  He  does  not  even  know  how  to  play 
cards! "  No  doubt,  if  I  had  made  Bazaroff  win,  the  same  critic  would 
have  triumphantly  exclaimed :  "  Is  n't  it  perfectly  plain  ?— The  author 
wants  to  have  it  understood  that  Bazfiroff  is  a  card-sharper! " 

2  Evg^ny  Onydgin,  the  hero  of  Pushkin's  poem  of  the  same  title. 
Petchdrin,  the  hero  of  L^rmontoff's  famous  novel,  "A  Hero  of  Our 
Times. ' '  — Translator. 

xvi 


PREFACE 

the  very  moment  of  the  new  man's — BazarofPs — ap- 
pearance, the  author  bore  himself  critically  ....  ob- 
jectively— toward  him.  This  bewildered,  and — who 
knows? — therein  lay,  possibly,  if  not  a  mistake,  an  in- 
justice. The  BazarofF  type  had,  at  all  events,  as  much 
right  to  idealisation  as  the  types  which  had  preceded  it. 

"  I  have  just  said  that  the  author's  relations  to  the 
person  set  forth  have  bewildered  the  reader.  The  reader 
always  feels  awkward,  he  is  easily  seized  with  perplex- 
ity, even  vexation,  if  the  author  behaves  with  the  char- 
acter depicted  as  with  a  living  being,  that  is  to  say, 
perceives  and  sets  forth  his  bad  and  his  good  sides, 
and  most  of  all,  if  he  does  not  display  manifest  sym- 
pathy or  antipathy  to  his  own  offspring.  The  reader 
is  ready  to  wax  angry;  he  is  forced  to  proceed  along  a 
path  which  has  not  hitherto  been  sketched  out,  and 
make  the  road  at  his  own  expense.  *  What  do  I  care 
about  toiling ! '  the  thought  involuntarily  springs  up 
in  him : — *  books  exist  for  diversion,  not  to  make  one 
cudgel  his  brains ;  and  how  much  would  it  have  cost 
the  author  to  say,  what  I  am  to  think  about  such  and 
such  a  person — what  he  thinks  of  the  person  himself?  ' 
— And  if  the  author's  relations  to  that  person  are  still 
more  indefinite,  if  the  author  himself  does  not  know 
whether  he  likes  or  dislikes  the  character  presented  (as 
it  happened  in  the  case  of  my  relations  to  Bazaroff,  for 
that  '  involuntary  attraction '  to  which  I  alluded  in  my 
diary  is  not  love) — then  things  are  indeed  in  a  bad  way! 
The  reader  is  ready  to  attribute  to  the  author  imaginary 
sympathies,  or  imaginary  antipathies,  if  only  for  the 
sake  of  extricating  himself  from  the  disagreeable  '  in- 
definiteness.' 

"  *  Neither  Fathers  nor  Children,' — said  a  witty  lady 
xvii 


PREFACE 

to  me,  after  reading  my  book: — 'that  is  the  proper 
title  for  your  novel — and  you  yourself  are  a  nihilist.' 
A  similar  opinion  was  pronounced,  with  still  greater 
force,  on  the  appearance  of  '  Smoke.'  I  shall  not  un- 
dertake to  retort;  perhaps  that  lady  spoke  the  truth. 
In  the  matter  of  writing,  every  one  (I  judge  by  myself) 
does  not  that  which  he  wishes,  but  that  which  he  is  able 
— and  to  the  degree  of  his  ability.  I  assume  that  lit- 
erary productions  should  be  judged  en  gros,  and,  while 
rigorously  demanding  conscientiousness  from  the  au- 
thor, the  public  must  contemplate  the  remainder  of 
his  activity — I  will  not  say  with  indifference,  but  with 
composure.  But,  with  the  fullest  desire  to  please  my 
critics,  I  cannot  admit  that  I  am  guilty  of  lack  of  con- 
scientiousness. 

"  In  conection  with  '  Fathers  and  Children '  I  have 
made  a  very  curious  collection  of  letters  and  other 
documents.  A  comparison  of  them  is  not  devoid  of 
interest.  At  the  time  when  some  people  are  accusing 
me  of  insulting  the  rising  generation,  of  being  behind 
the  times,  of  insanity,  and  informing  me  that  '  they  are 
burning  my  photographs  with  a  laugh  of  scorn,' — 
others,  on  the  contrary,  indignantly  upbraid  me  with 
cringing  slavishly  before  that  same  rising  generation. 
*  You  crawl  at  Bazaroff's  feet ! '  exclaims  one  corre- 
spondent— *  you  merely  pretend  to  condemn  him ;  in 
reality,  you  fawn  on  him  and  await,  as  a  gracious  fa- 
vour, one  of  his  careless  smiles!' — I  remember  that  one 
critic,  in  powerful  and  eloquent  phrases,  levelled  straight 
at  my  head,  represented  me  and  Mr.  Katkoff  ^  in  the 
light   of  a  couple  of  conspirators,  plotting  in  the  si- 

^  The  editor  of  the  Russian  Messenger,  in  which  the  book  first 
appeared.  — Tr  a  nslatoe. 

xviii 


PREFACE 

lence  of  an  isolated  study  their  revolting  machinations, 
their  calumnies  of  young  Russian  forces.  The  picture 
was  extremely  effective !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  is 
the  way  that  *  conspiracy '  came  about.  When  Mr. 
KatkofF  received  from  me  the  manuscript  of  *  Fathers 
and  Children,' — of  whose  contents  he  had  not  even  an 
approximate  knowledge, — he  was  puzzled.  The  type 
of  BazarofF  seemed  to  him  *  almost  an  apotheosis  of 
"  The  CONTEMPORARY,"  '  and  I  should  not  have 
been  surprised  if  he  had  declined  to  insert  my  novel  in  his 
journal.  *  Et  voild  comme  on  ecrit  Vhistoire!  '  one 
might  exclaim  at  this  point  .  .  .  but  is  it  permissable 
to  magnify  such  petty  things  by  such  a  resounding 
name.'* 

"  On  the  other  hand,  I  understand  the  causes  of  wrath 
which  my  book  aroused  in  a  certain  party.  They  are 
not  without  foundation,  and  I  accept — without  false 
resignation — a  portion  of  the  reproaches  which  have 
fallen  upon  me.  The  word  '  nihilist '  which  I  launched 
was  used  at  the  time  by  many  persons  who  were  only 
waiting  for  a  chance,  a  pretext,  in  order  to  put  a  stop 
to  the  movement  which  had  seized  upon  Russian  society. 
Not  with  a  view  to  upbraid,  not  with  the  object  of 
insulting,  did  I  employ  that  word,  but  as  an  exact  and 
fitting  expression  of  a  historical  fact  which  had  pre- 
sented itself;  it  was  converted  into  a  weapon  of  denun- 
ciation, of  irrevocable  condemnation, — almost  into  a 
brand  of  disgrace.  Several  sad  events,  which  occurred 
at  that  epoch,  afforded  still  further  aliment  to  the 
suspicion  which  had  been  engendered — and,  as  though 
in  confirmation  of  the  wide-spread  apprehensions,  jus- 
tified the  efforts  and  labours  of  our  *  saviours  of  the 
fatherland '  .  .  .  .  for    *  saviours    of   the    fatherland ' 

xix 


PREFACE 

made  their  appearance  among  us  in  Russia  also,  at  that 
period.  Public  opinion,  still  so  ill-defijied  among  us, 
rushed  in  a  receding  wave.  .  .  .  But  a  shadow  lay  on 
my  name.  I  am  not  deceiving  myself;  I  know  that  that 
shadow  will  not  depart  from  my  name.  But  other  peo- 
ple also — people  before  whom  I  am  too  profoundly  con- 
scious of  my  insignificance — have  uttered  the  grand 
words:  *  Perissent  nos  noms;  pourvu  que  la  chose  pub- 
lique  soit  sauvee!  '  In  imitation  of  them  I  also  may 
console  myself  with  the  thought  of  the  good  I  have 
done.  That  thought  outweighs  the  unpleasantness  of 
unmerited  abuse.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  what  does 
it  matter?  Who,  after  the  expiration  of  twenty  or 
thirty  years,  will  remember  all  those  tempests  in  a  glass 
of  water — and  my  name — with  or  without  a  shadow?  " 

I.  F.  H. 


XX 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

(1861) 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 


WELL,  Piotr?  Is  anything  to  be  seen  yet?  " 
inquired  a  gentleman  a  little  over  forty 
years  of  age,  in  a  dusty  coat  and  checked  trou- 
sers, on  May  20th,  1859,  as  he  emerged  hatless 
upon  the  low  porch  of  a  posting-station  on  the 
*  *  *  highway,  of  his  servant,  a  chubby-faced 
young  fellow,  with  whitish  down  on  his  chin,  and 
small,  dull  eyes. 

The  servant,  whose  every  characteristic — the 
turquoise  ear-ring  in  his  ear,  and  his  pomaded, 
party-coloured  hair,  and  the  urbane  movements 
of  his  body, — everything,  in  a  word, — betrayed  a 
man  of  the  newest,  perfected  generation,  gazed 
condescendingly  along  the  road,  and  replied: 
"  Nothing  at  all,  sir,  is  to  be  seen." 

"  Is  nothing  to  be  seen?  "  repeated  the  gentle- 
man. 

"  Nothing  is  to  be  seen,"  replied  the  servant, 
for  the  second  time. 

His  master  sighed,  and  seated  himself  on  the 
bench.  Let  us  make  the  reader  acquainted  with 
him,  while  he  sits  there,  with  his  feet  tucked  up 
under  him,  and  gazing  thoughtfully  around  him. 

3 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN      . 

His  name  is  Nikolai  Petrovitch  Kirsanoff.  At 
a  distance  of  fifteen  versts  ^  from  the  posting-sta- 
tion, he  has  a  fine  estate  of  two  hundred  souls,  or — 
as  he  is  in  the  habit  of  expressing  it  since  he  por- 
tioned off  to  the  peasants  their  land  and  set  up 
a  "  farm  "—of  two  thousand  desyatinas  ^  of  land. 
His  father,  a  fighting  general  of  1812,  able  to 
read  and  write  only  indifferently,  coarse,  but  not 
vicious,  a  Russian  man,  had  toiled  hard  for  a  live- 
lihood all  his  life,  had  commanded  first  a  brigade, 
then  a  division,  and  had  lived  uninterruptedly  in 
the  rural  districts,  where,  by  virtue  of  his  rank, 
he  had  played  a  fairly  prominent  part.  Nikolai 
Petrovitch  had  been  born  in  the  south  of  Russia, 
like  his  elder  brother  Pavel,  of  whom  we  shall 
speak  hereafter,  and  had  been  reared,  up  to  his 
fourteenth  year,  at  home,  surrounded  by  cheap 
tutors,  free-and-easy  but  obsequious  adjutants, 
and  other  regimental  and  staff  officers.  His  mo- 
ther, from  the  family  of  the  Kolyazins,  called 
Agathe  as  a  young  girl,  and  as  Madame  the  wife 
of  the  General,  Agafoklea  Kuzminishna  Kirsa- 
noff, belonged  to  the  category  of  "  master ful- 
commanderesses,"— wore  sumptuous  caps  and 
rustling  silken  gowns,  went  up  first  to  kiss  the 
cross  in  church,  talked  loudly  and  much,  admitted 
her  children  to  kiss  her  hand  every  morning,  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross  in  blessing  over  them  at  night, 

*  Ten  miles. — Thanslatob. 
■  A  desyatina  equals  2.70  acres. — Trakslatoi. 

4k 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

—in  a  word,  led  an  enjoyable  life.  In  his  quality 
of  son  of  a  general,  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  although 
he  not  only  was  not  distinguished  for  courage,  but 
had  even  earned  the  nickname  of  a  little  coward, 
was  forced,  hke  his  brother  Pavel,  to  enter  the 
military  service ;  but  he  broke  his  leg  the  very  day 
that  the  news  of  his  appointment  arrived,  and, 
after  lying  in  bed  for  two  months,  remained  a 
*'  limpy  "  for  the  rest  of  his  hfe.  His  father  gave 
up  all  hope  of  him,  and  allowed  him  to  enter  the 
civil  service.  He  took  him  to  Petersburg,  as  soon 
as  he  was  eighteen,  and  placed  him  in  the  uni- 
versity. His  brother,  by  the  way,  graduated  into 
the  Guards  as  an  officer,  just  about  that  time. 
The  young  men  began  to  live  together,  in  one  set 
of  lodgings,  under  the  remote  supervision  of  a 
grand-uncle  on  their  mother's  side,  Ilya  Kolyazin, 
an  important  official.  Their  father  went  back  to 
his  division  and  to  his  spouse,  and  only  occasion- 
ally sent  to  his  sons  big  quarto  sheets  of  grey  pa- 
per, scrawled  over  in  a  bold,  clerkly  script.  At 
the  end  of  these  quarto  sheets,  carefully  encircled 
by  "  curly -cues,"  flaunted  the  words:  "  Piotr 
Kirsanoff,  Major-General."  In  1835  Nikolai  Pe- 
trovitch graduated  from  the  university  with  the 
degree  of  candidate,  and,  in  that  same  year.  Gen- 
eral Kirsanoff,  having  been  put  on  the  retired  list 
for  an  unsuccessful  review,  arrived  in  Petersburg 
with  his  wife,  with  the  intention  of  living  there. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  hiring  a  house  near  the 

5 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Tauris  Garden,^  and  joining  the  English  Club, 
when  he  suddenly  died  of  apoplexy.  Agaf oklea 
Kuznunishna  speedily  followed  him:  she  could  not 
get  accustomed  to  the  dull  life  of  the  capital;  the 
grief  of  her  position  on  the  retired  list  worried  her 
to  death.  In  the  meantime,  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
had  succeeded,  already  during  the  hfetime  of  his 
parents,  and  to  their  no  small  chagrin,  in  f  aUing 
in  love  with  the  daughter  of  an  official  named 
Prepolovensky,  the  former  landlord  of  his  lodg- 
ings, a  pretty  and,  it  was  said,  a  well-educated 
young  girl :  she  read  the  serious  articles,  under  the 
department  labelled  "  Science,"  in  the  news- 
papers. He  married  her,  as  soon  as  the  period 
of  mourning  was  over,  and  quitting  the  Ministry 
of  the  Imperial  Appanages,  where  he  had  been 
entered  through  the  influence  of  his  father,  he  en- 
joyed felicity  with  his  Masha,  first  in  a  villa  near 
the  Forestry  Institute,  then  in  town,  in  a  tiny  and 
pretty  apartment  with  a  clean  staircase  and  a 
rather  cold  drawing-room,  and,  at  last,  in  the  coun- 
try, where  he  definitively  settled  down,  and  where 
a  son,  Arkady,  was  shortly  born  to  him.  The  hus- 
band and  wife  lived  very  well  and  quietly:  they 
were  hardly  ever  separated— they  read  together, 
played  four-handed  pieces  together  on  the  piano, 

^  The  Tauris  Garden,  part  of  which  is  open  to  the  public  in  summer, 
lies  in  a  good  residential  quarter  of  the  town,  attached  to  the  Tauris 
Palace.  The  latter  was  built  in  1783  by  the  Empress  Katharine  II. 
for  Prince  Paty6mkin,  after  his  conquest  of  the  Crimea.  It  was  soon 
bought  back,  at  Fatydmkin's  death,  by  the  Crown.— TaAxsLAToa. 

6 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

sang  duets;  she  planted  flowers,  and  supervised 
the  poultry-yard;  he  went  hunting  on  rare  occa- 
sions, and  occupied  himself  with  the  farming ;  and 
Arkady  grew,  and  grew — also  well  and  quietly. 
In  the  year  '47,  KirsanofF's  wife  died.  He  hardly 
survived  this  blow,  and  his  hair  turned  grey  in  the 
course  of  a  few  weeks:  he  contemplated  going 
abroad,  for  the  purpose  of  diverting  his  mind  . .  . 

buttheyear '48  arrived  at  this  juncture 

willy-nilly,  he  returned  to  the  country,  and  after 
a  rather  prolonged  season  of  inactivity  he  under- 
took agricultural  reforms.  In  the  year  1855,  he 
took  his  son  to  the  university :  he  spent  three  win- 
ters with  him  in  Petersburg,  going  out  hardly  at 
all,  and  endeavouring  to  strike  up  acquaintance 
with  Arkady's  youthful  comrades.  He  was  un- 
able to  come  for  the  last  winter,— and  here  we  be- 
hold him,  in  May  of  the  year  1859,  already  com- 
pletely grey,  plump,  and  rather  stooping:  he  is 
awaiting  his  son,  who,  like  himself  in  years  gone 
by,  has  graduated  with  the  degree  of  candidate. 
The  servant,  out  of  a  sense  of  decorum,  and 
possibly  also  because  he  did  not  wish  to  remain 
under  his  master's  eye,  stepped  under  the  gate- 
arch  and  lighted  his  pipe.  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
hung  his  head,  and  began  to  stare  at  the  decrepit 
steps  of  the  porch ;  a  large,  piebald  chicken  stalked 
pompously  past  him,  with  a  sturdy  thud  of  its 
big,  yellow  feet;  a  bespattered  cat  stared  at  him 
in  hostile  wise,  as  she  crouched  primly  on  the  rail- 

7 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

ing.  The  sun  was  burning  hot:  from  the  half- 
dark  anteroom  of  the  posting-station  an  odour  of 
warm  rye  bread  was  wafted.  Our  Nikolai  Petr6- 
vitch  fell  into  a  reverie :  "  Son  . . .  candidate  .... 
Arkasha  .  .  .  ."  kept  incessantly  circling  through 
his  brain ;  he  made  an  effort  to  think  of  something 
else,  and  again  reverted  to  the  same  thoughts.  He 
called  to  mind  his  dead  wife.  ..."  She  did  not 
live  to  see  this  day! "  he  whispered  mournfully. 
....  A  fat,  dark-blue  pigeon  flew  down  into  the 
road,  and  hastily  betook  itself  to  the  puddle  be- 
side the  well,  to  drink.  Nikolai  Petrovitch  began 
to  stare  at  it,  but  his  ear  already  caught  the 
rumble  of  approaching  wheels. 

"  I  think  they  are  coming,  sir,"  announced  the 
servant,  popping  out  from  under  the  gate. 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
strained  his  eyes  along  the  road.  A  tarantas 
made  its  appearance,  drawn  by  a  troika  of  post- 
ing-horses: in  the  tarantas  there  was  a  gleam  of 
the  band  of  a  student's  cap,  the  familiar  outline 
of  a  beloved  face. 

"  Arkasha!  Arkasha  I  "  shouted  Kirsdnoff,  and 

started  on  a  run,  flourishing  his  anns A 

few  moments  later,  his  lips  were  glued  to  the 
beardless,  dusty,  and  sunburnt  cheek  of  the  young 
candidate. 


8 


II 

"  Let  me  shake  myself,  papa,"— said  Arkady,  in 
a  voice  that  was  rather  hoarse  from  the  journey, 
but  ringing  and  youthful,  cheerily  responding  to 
his  father's  caresses,—"  I  am  daubing  thee  aU 
over." 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
repeated  again  and  again,  with  a  smile  of  emotion, 
and  he  administered  a  couple  of  blows  with  his 
hand  on  the  collar  of  his  son's  cloak  and  on  his 
own  overcoat.—"  Let  me  look  at  thee,  let  me  look 
at  thee,"  he  added,  stepping  ojff ,  but  immediately 
strode  toward  the  posting-station  with  hasty 
steps,  reiterating:  "Here,  come  along,  come 
along,  and  let  us  have  horses  as  speedily  as 
possible." 

Nikoldi  Petrovitch  appeared  to  be  far  more 
agitated  than  his  son:  it  was  as  though  he  were 
somewhat  bewildered,  as  though  he  were  intimi- 
dated.   Arkady  stopped  him. 

"  Papa,"  he  said,  "  allow  me  to  introduce  to 
thee  my  good  friend  Bazaroff,  of  whom  I  have 
so  often  written  to  thee.  He  has  been  so  amiable 
as  to  consent  to  pay  us  a  visit." 

9 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  wheeled  swiftly  round,  and 
stepping  up  to  a  man  of  lofty  stature,  in  a  long 
peasant's  overcoat  with  tassels,  who  had  only  just 
alighted  from  the  tarantas,  he  warmly  shook  the 
bare,  red  hand  which  the  man  did  not  immediately 
offer  him. 

"  I  am  heartily  glad,"  he  began, — *'  and  grate- 
ful to  you  for  your  kind  intention  to  visit  us:  I 
hope  .  .  .  Permit  me  to  inquire  your  name  and 
patronymic?  " 

"  Evgeny  Vasilitch," — replied  Bazaroff,  in  a 
languid  but  manly  voice,  and  turning  down  the 
collar  of  the  peasant  coat,  he  displayed  his  entire 
face  to  Nikolai  Petrovitch.  Long  and  thin,  with 
a  broad  forehead,  a  nose  which  was  flat  at  the  top 
and  pointed  at  the  tip,  with  large,  greenish  eyes, 
and  pendent  sidewhiskers  of  a  sandy  hue,  it  was 
rendered  animated  by  a  calm  smile,  and  expressed 
self-confidence  and  cleverness. 

"  I  trust,  my  dearest  Evgeny  Vasilitch,  that 
you  will  not  be  bored  with  us," — went  on  Nikolai 
Petrovitch. 

Bazaroff 's  thin  lips  moved  slightly;  but  he 
made  no  reply,  and  merely  Hfted  his  cap.  His 
dark-blond  hair,  long  and  thick,  did  not  conceal 
the  huge  protuberances  of  his  ample  skull. 

"  Well,  what  are  we  to  do,  Arkady?  " — ^began 
Nikolai  Petrovitch,  again  turning  to  his  son.— 
"  Shall  we  have  the  horses  put  to  at  once?  Or  do 
you  wish  to  rest?  " 

10 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  We  will  rest  at  home,  papa;  give  orders  to 
have  the  horses  put  to." 

"  Immediately,  immediately,"  assented  his 
father. — "  Hey,  there,  Piotr,  dost  thou  hear? 
Look  lively  there,  my  good  brother;  see  to  things." 

Piotr,  who,  in  his  quality  of  improved  domestic, 
had  not  kissed  his  young  master's  hand,  but  had 
merely  bowed  to  him  from  a  distance,  again  van- 
ished inside  the  gate. 

"  I  am  here  with  a  calash,  but  there  are  three 
horses  for  thy  tarantas,"  said  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
hastily,  while  Arkady  was  drinking  water  out  of 
an  iron  dipper  brought  by  the  keeper  of  the  post- 
ing-station, and  Bazaroff  lighted  his  pipe  and 
stepped  up  to  the  postiHon,  who  was  unharnessing 
his  horses. — "  The  calash  has  only  two  seats,  and 
I  do  not  know  how  thy  friend  .  .  .  ." 

"  He  will  drive  in  the  tarantas," — interrupted 
Arkady,  in  an  undertone. — "  Please  do  not  stand 
on  ceremony  with  him.  He  's  a  splendid  young 
fellow,  so  simple, — thou  wilt  see." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch's  coachman  brought  out  the 
horses. 

"  Come,  turn  round,  ThickbeardI  " — said  Ba- 
zaroff to  the  postilion. 

"  Dost  hear,  Mitiiikha,"  put  in  another  pos- 
tiHon, who  was  standing  near,  with  his  hands 
thrust  into  the  rear  shts  of  his  sheepskin  coat, — 
"  what  the  gentleman  called  thee?  Thickbeard 
it  was." 

11 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Mitiiikha  merely  shook  his  cap,  and  drew  the 
reins  from  the  sweating  shaft-horse. 

"  Be  quick,  be  quick,  my  lads,  lend  a  hand," — 
exclaimed  Nikolai  Petrovitch, — "  and  you  '11  get 
something  for  liquor! " 

In  a  few  minutes  the  horses  were  harnessed; 
father  and  son  seated  themselves  in  the  calash,  and 
Piotr  climbed  on  the  box;  Bazaroff  jumped  into 
the  tarantas  and  buried  his  head  in  the  leather  pil- 
low,— and  both  equipages  rolled  off. 


12 


Ill 

"  So  here  thou  art  a  candidate  at  last,  and  hast 
come  home," — said  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  touching 
Arkady  now  on  the  shoulder,  now  on  the  knee: — 
"at  last!" 

*'  And  how  is  uncle?  Well?  "  asked  Arkady, 
who,  despite  the  genuine,  almost  childish  joy 
which  filled  his  heart,  wished  to  change  the  conver- 
sation as  speedily  as  possible  from  an  agitated  into 
a  commonplace  current. 

"  Yes.  He  had  intended  to  drive  over  with  me 
to  meet  thee,  but  changed  his  mind  for  some  rea- 
son or  other." 

"  And  hast  thou  been  waiting  long  for  me?  " — 
asked  Arkady. 

*'  Why,  about  five  hours." 

"Good  papa!" 

Arkady  turned  briskly  toward  his  father,  and 
gave  him  a  resounding  smack  on  the  cheek.  Niko- 
lai Petrovitch  laughed  softly. 

"  What  a  magnificent  horse  I  have  prepared 
for  thee!  "—he  began:— "  thou  wilt  see.  And 
thy  room  has  been  papered." 

"  And  is  there  a  chamber  for  Bazaroif  ?  " 

"  We  '11  find  one  for  him  also." 
13 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Please,  papa,  do  pet  him  a  bit.  I  cannot  ex- 
press to  thee  to  what  a  degree  I  prize  his  friend- 
ship." 

"  Thou  hast  not  known  him  very  long?  " 

"  Not  very  long." 

"  That  is  why  I  did  not  see  him  last  winter.  In 
what  does  he  interest  himself?  " 

"  His  principal  subject  is  the  natural  sciences. 
But  he  knows  everything.  He  wants  to  take 
his  examination  for  the  doctor's  degree  next 
year." 

"Ah!  so  he's  in  the  medical  faculty,"— re- 
marked Nikolai  Petrovitch,  and  relapsed  into 
silence.— "Piotr,"  he  added,  and  stretched  out 
his  hand, — "aren't  those  our  peasants  coming 
yonder? " 

Piotr  gazed  on  one  side,  in  the  direction  whither 
his  master  was  pointing.  Several  peasant  carts, 
drawn  by  horses  with  slackened  bridles,  were  roll- 
ing briskly  along  the  narrow  country  road.  In 
each  cart  sat  one,  or  at  the  most  two,  peasants  in 
sheepskin  coats  which  were  open  on  the  breast.— 
"  Exactly  so,  sir,"  said  Piotr. 

"  Whither  are  they  going— to  town?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  must  be  to  the  town.  To  the 
dram-shop,"— he  added  scornfully,  and  leaned  a 
little  toward  the  coachman,  as  though  referring  to 
him.  But  the  latter  did  not  even  stir:  he  was  a 
man  of  the  old  school,  who  did  not  share  the  latest 
views. 

14 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  am  having  a  great  deal  of  trouble  with  the 
peasants  this  year,"— pursued  Nikolai  Petrovitch, 
addressing  his  son. — "  They  will  not  pay  their 
quit-rent.^    What  wouldst  thou  do?  " 

"  And  art  thou  satisfied  with  thy  hired  la- 
bourers? " 

"  Yes," — said  Nikolai  Petrovitch  between  his 
teeth.—"  They  are  stirring  them  up  to  mischief, 
that 's  the  trouble ;  however,  no  regular  attempt 
has  been  made,  as  yet.  They  ruin  the  harnesses. 
But  they  have  done  the  ploughing  all  right. 
When  difficulties  are  surmounted,  all  goes  well 
again.  But  art  thou  already  interested  in  the 
farming? " 

*'  You  have  no  shade,  and  that 's  a  great  pity," 
-remarked  Arkady,  without  answering  the  last 
question. 

"  I  have  added  a  large  awning  on  the  north 
side,  over  the  balcony,"  said  Nikolai  Petrovitch: 
— "  and  now  we  can  dine  in  the  open  air." 

"  It  will  look  awfully  like  a  suburban  viUa  .  .  . 
however,  all  that  is  of  no  consequence.  What  air 
there  is  here!  How  splendidly  fragrant  it  is! 
Really,  it  seems  to  me  that  nowhere  in  the  world 
is  it  so  fragrant  as  in  these  parts !  And  then  the 
sky  here  .  .  ." 

Arkady  suddenly  paused,  cast  a  sidelong 
glance  behind  him,  and  became  silent. 

"  Of  course,"— remarked  Nikolai  Petrovitch, 

The  obrokf  or  sum  paid  in  lieu  of  personal  labor. — Trakslator. 

15 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

— "  thou  wert  born  here,  and  ever5i:hing  here 
ought  to  seem  to  thee  peculiarly  .  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  papa,  it  makes  no  difference  where  a 
man  was  born." 

"  But " 

"  No,  it  makes  absolutely  no  difference." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  gazed  askance  at  his  son, 
and  the  calash  had  traversed  half  a  verst  before 
the  conversation  was  resumed  between  them. 

"  I  do  not  remember  whether  I  wrote  to  thee," 
— began  Nikolai  Petrovitch, — "  that  thy  former 
nurse,  Egorovna,  was  dead." 

"Really?  Poor  old  woman!  And  is  Proko- 
fitch  ahve? " 

"  Yes,  and  has  not  changed  in  the  least.  He 
still  grumbles  as  of  old.  On  the  whole,  thou  wilt 
not  find  many  changes  at  Marino." 

"  Hast  thou  still  the  same  overseer?  " 

"  Why,  the  change  in  the  overseer  is  about 
the  only  one  I  have  made.  I  have  decided  not 
to  keep  any  more  emancipated,  former  house- 
servants,  or,  at  least,  not  to  entrust  them  with  any 
duties  which  involve  responsibility."  (Arkady 
indicated  Piotr  with  his  eyes. )  "  II  est  libre,  en 
effet" — remarked  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  in  a  low 
tone, — "  but,  you  see,  he  is  my  valet.  Now  I 
have  a  petty  burgher  as  overseer :  he  seems  a  prac- 
tical young  fellow.  I  have  appointed  him  a  salary 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  rubles  a  year.  How- 
ever,"— added  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  rubbing  his 

16 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

forehead  and  eyebrows  with  his  hand,  which  with 
him  was  always  a  sign  of  inward  perturbation, — 
"  I  have  just  told  thee  that  thou  wouldst  not  find 
any  changes  at  Marino.  .  .  That  is  not  quite  cor- 
rect. I  consider  it  my  duty  to  warn  thee,  al- 
though .  .  ." 

He  faltered  for  a  moment,  and  then  continued, 
in  French. 

"  A  strict  moralist  would  regard  my  frankness 
as  misplaced,  but,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  conceal  the  fact,  and,  in  the  second,  thou 
art  well  aware  that  I  have  always  entertained  pe- 
culiar principles  with  regard  to  the  relations  be- 
tween father  and  son.  But,  of  course,  thou  wilt 
have  a  right  to  condemn  me.  At  my  age  .... 
In  a  word  .  .  .  that  .  .  .  that  young  girl,  of 
whom  thou  hast,  in  all  probability,  already 
heard  .  .  ." 

"  Fenitchka?  "  asked  Arkady  easily. 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  flushed. — "  Please  do  not 
mention  her  name  aloud.  .  .  .  Well,  yes  .  .  .  she 
is  now  living  with  me.  I  have  lodged  her  in  my 
house  ....  there  were  two  small  rooms  there. 
However,  that  can  be  changed." 

"  And  why,  pray,  papa?  " 

"  Thy  friend  is  to  visit  thee  . .  it  is  awkward  ..." 

"  Please  do  not  worry  thyself,  so  far  as  Ba- 
zaroff  is  concerned.    He  is  above  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 
"  Well,  thou  ...  in  short,"— said  Nikolai  Petro- 

17 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

vitch,— "  the  small  wing  is  in  a  sorry  state— that 's 
the  difficulty." 

"  Upon  my  word,  papa,"— interpolated  Ar- 
kady,—" thou  wouldst  seem  to  be  making  apolo- 
gies; art  thou  not  ashamed  of  thyself?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself," 
—replied  Nikolai  Petro vitch,  growing  more  and 
more  crimson  in  the  face. 

"  Enough,  papa,— enough,  please,"— Arkady 
smiled  aiFectionately.  "  What  is  there  to  apolo- 
gise for!  "  he  thought  to  himself,  and  a  sensation 
of  condescending  tenderness  toward  his  kind, 
gentle  father,  mingled  with  a  f eehng  of  a  certain 
superiority  over  him,  filled  his  soul.—"  Stop, 
please," — he  repeated  once  more,  involuntarily 
enjoying  the  consciousness  of  his  own  progres- 
siveness  and  freedom. 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  cast  a  look  at  him  from  be- 
neath the  fingers  of  the  hand  with  which  he  con- 
tinued to  rub  his  forehead,  and  something  stung 
him  at  the  heart.  .  .  .  But  he  immediately  took 
himself  to  task. 

"  Here  is  where  our  fields  begin," — he  said, 
after  a  long  silence. 

"  And  that  is  our  forest,  yonder  ahead,  I 
think?  "—inquired  Arkady. 

"  Yes,  it  is  ours.  Only,  I  have  sold  it.  It  will 
be  felled  this  year." 

"  Why  didst  thou  sell  it?  " 

18 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  needed  the  money:  and,  besides,  this  land 
goes  to  the  peasants." 

"  Who  do  not  pay  thee  their  quit-rent?  " 

"  That 's  their  affair ;  however,  they  will  pay 
up  some  time  or  other." 

"  It  is  a  pity  about  the  forest,"— remarked  Ar- 
kady, and  began  to  gaze  about  him. 

The  localities  through  which  they  were  passing 
could  not  be  called  picturesque.  Fields,  nothing 
but  fields,  stretched  away  to  the  very  horizon,  now 
rising  gently,  again  sinking ;  here  and  there  small 
patches  of  forest  were  visible,  and  here  and  there 
ravines,  overgrown  with  sparse,  low  bushes, 
wound  in  and  out,  recalling  to  the  eye  the  repre- 
sentations of  them  on  ancient  plans  of  the  time 
of  Katherine  II.  Here  and  there,  also,  small 
streams  were  to  be  encountered,  with  washed-out 
banks,  and  tiny  ponds  with  wretched  dams,  and 
little  hamlets  with  low  cottages  under  dark 
roofs,  which  often  had  been  half  swept  away,  and 
lop-sided  threshing-sheds  with  wattled  walls  of 
brushwood,  and  churches,  now  of  brick  with  the 
stucco  peeled  off  in  places,  now  of  wood,  with 
slanting  crosses  and  ruined  graveyards.  Ar- 
kady's heart  gradually  contracted.  As  though 
expressly,  they  kept  meeting  peasants  in  clothing 
which  was  too  tight  with  long  wear,  on  wretched 
nags ;  like  beggars  in  rags  stood  the  roadside  wil- 
lows, with  tattered  bark  and  broken  branches; 

19 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

thin,  scabby,  apparently  famished  cows  were 
greedily  nibbling  at  the  grass  along  the  ditches. 
They  seemed  to  have  just  succeeded  in  tearing 
themselves  from  some  menacing,  death-dealing 
talons, — and,  evoked  by  the  pitiful  aspect  of  the 
debilitated  beasts,  amid  the  fine  spring  day,  there 
arose  the  white  wraith  of  the  cheerless,  endless 
winter,  with  its  blizzards,  frosts,  and  snows.  .  .  . 
"  No,"— thought  Arkady,  "  this  is  not  a  rich 
land;  it  does  not  strike  the  beholder  with  its 
abundance  or  its  industry;  it  is  impossible,  im- 
possible for  it  to  remain  like  this ;  reforms  are  in- 
dispensable .  .  .  but  how  are  they  to  be  brought 
about,  how  is  one  to  set  to  work?  ..." 

Thus  did  Arkady  meditate . . .  and  while  he  was 
meditating,  the  spring  asserted  its  rights.  Every- 
thing round  about  was  ringing  with  a  golden 
sound,  everjrthing  was  stirring  with  broad,  soft 
agitation  and  shining  beneath  the  tranquil  breath 
of  the  warm  breeze,— everything,— trees,  bushes, 
and  grass;  every^where  the  larks  were  carolHng 
in  unending,  sonorous  floods;  the  lapwings  were 
alternately  shrilling,  as  they  soared  in  circles 
above  the  low-ljdng  meadows,  and  silently  hop- 
ping over  the  hillocks;  the  daws  stalked  about, 
handsomely  black  against  the  tender  green  of  the 
spring  rye,  which  was  still  low  of  growth;  they 
preached  sermons  in  the  rye,  which  was  already 
turning  slightly  whitish,  only  now  and  then  show- 
ing their  heads  amid  its  smokelike  billows.    Ar- 

20 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

kady  gazed,  and  gazed,  and  his  meditations  grad- 
ually faded  away,  then  vanished  altogether.  .  .  . 
He  jflung  off  his  uniform  coat,  and  looked  at  his 
father  so  merrily,  so  much  like  a  young  boy,  that 
the  latter  embraced  him  once  more. 

"  We  have  not  much  further  to  go  now,"— re- 
marked Nikolai  Petrovitch, — "  we  have  only  to 
ascend  yonder  hill,  and  the  house  will  be  visible. 
We  are  going  to  get  on  together  splendidly,  Ar- 
kasha;  thou  shalt  help  me  with  the  farming,  if  it 
does  not  bore  thee.  We  must  become  intimate 
with  each  other  now;  we  must  know  each  other 
well,  must  we  not?  " 

"Of  course," — said  Arkady: — "but  what  a 
magnificent  day  this  is!  " 

"It  is  in  honour  of  thy  arrival,  dear  heart. 
Yes,  it  is  spring  in  all  its  glory.  But  I  agree 
with  Pushkin— dost  thou  remember,  in  '  Evgeny 
Onyegin  * : 

"How  sad  is  thy  coining  to  me, 
Spring,  spring,  the  time  of  love! 
How  .   .   .   ." 

"Arkady!  "—rang  out  Bazaroff's  voice  from 
the  tarantas:— "  send  me  a  match.  I  have  no 
means  of  lighting  my  pipe." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  relapsed  into  silence,  and 
Arkady,  who  had  begun  to  listen  to  him,  not  with- 
out a  certain  surprise,  but  also  not  without  sym- 

21 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

pathy,  hastened  to  pull  a  silver  match-box  from 
his  pocket  and  despatch  it  to  Bazaroff  by  Piotr. 

"  Wilt  thou  have  a  cigar?  "—shouted  Bazaroff 
again. 

"  Hand  it  over,"— rephed  Arkady. 

Piotr  returned  to  the  calash,  and  handed  him, 
in  company  with  the  match-box,  a  thick,  black 
cigar,  which  Arkady  immediately  lighted,  dis- 
seminating about  him  such  a  strong  and  acrid 
odour  of  rank  tobacco  that  Nikolai  Petrovitch, 
who  had  never  smoked  in  his  life,  involuntarily — 
though  unperceived,  in  order  not  to  offend  his 
son — turned  away  his  nose. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  both  carriages  drew 
up  at  the  steps  of  a  new  wooden  house,  painted 
grey,  and  covered  with  a  red  iron  roof.  This  was 
Marino,  also  Novaya-Slobodka;  or,  according  to 
the  peasants'  name  for  it,  Bobyly-Khutor.^ 

1  NSnaym-Slob6dka,  New  Suburb:  Bobyly-KhutSr,  Landless  Farm,— 
Tkakslatob. 


22 


IV 

No  throng  of  house-servants  poured  forth  upon 
the  porch  to  welcome  the  masters :  the  only  person 
who  showed  herself  was  a  little  girl  of  twelve,  and 
in  her  wake  there  emerged  from  the  house  a 
young  lad  who  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to 
Piotr,  clad  in  a  grey,  livery  round  jacket,  with 
white  armouried  buttons,  the  servant  of  Pavel  Pe- 
trovitch  Kirsanoff .  He  silently  opened  the  door 
of  the  calash,  and  unbuttoned  the  apron  of  the 
tarantas.  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  with  his  son  and 
Bazaroff,  walked  through  a  dark  and  almost 
empty  hall,^  from  behind  whose  door  they  caught 
a  fleeting  gHmpse  of  a  young,  feminine  face,  to 
the  drawing-room,  which  was  already  furnished 
in  the  latest  taste. 

"  Here  we  are  at  home," — said  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch, removing  his  cap,  and  shaking  back  his 
hair. — "  The  chief  thing  now  is  to  have  supper 
and  to  rest." 

"  It  really  would  not  be  a  bad  idea  to  have  some- 
thing to  eat,"— remarked  BazarofF,  stretching 
himself,  and  dropping  down  on  a  couch. 

"  Yes,  yes,  serve  supper  as  quickly  as  possible." 

*  The  "hall"  is  a  combination  of  music-room,  ball-room,  and  play- 
room.— Translator. 

23 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

— Nikolai  Petrovitch  stamped  his  feet,  without 
any  visible  cause. — "  By  the  way,  here  is  Proko- 
fitch." 

There  entered  a  man  of  fifty,  white-haired,  thin, 
and  swarthy,  in  a  light-brown  frock-coat  with 
brass  buttons,  and  a  pink  kerchief  round  his 
throat.  He  grinned,  kissed  Arkady's  hand,  and 
bowing  to  the  guest,  retreated  to  the  door,  and 
put  his  hands  behind  him. 

"  Here  he  is,  Prokofitch,"— began  Nikolai  Pe- 
trovitch,— "  he  has  come  to  us,  at  last.  .  .  .  Well? 
What  dost  thou  think  of  him?  " 

"  He  is  in  the  best  condition,  sir,"  said  the  old 
man,  and  grinned  again,  but  immediately  knit 
his  thick  brows.—"  Do  you  command  the  table 
to  be  set?  " — he  said  impressively. 

"  Yes,  yes,  if  you  please.  But  will  you  not  go 
to  your  room  first,  Evgeny  Vasilitch?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  there  's  no  necessity.  Only, 
please  give  orders  to  have  my  little  trunk  carried 
thither,  and  this  horrid  old  garment,  also,"  he 
added,  taking  off  the  peasant-coat. 

"  Very  good.  Prokofitch,  take  his  coat."  (Pro- 
kofitch,  in  a  sort  of  stupefaction,  grasped  the 
"  horrid  old  garment "  in  both  hands,  and  ele- 
vating it  high  above  his  head,  withdrew  on  tiptoe. ) 
"  And  thou,  Arkady,  wilt  thou  go  to  thine  own 
room  for  a  minute?  " 

"  Yes,  I  must  get  myself  clean,"  replied  Ar- 
kady, and  started  toward  the  door;  but  at  that 

24 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

moment  there  entered  the  drawing-room  a  man 
of  medium  stature,  dressed  in  a  dark  English 
suit,  a  fashionable,  low  necktie,  and  low,  patent- 
leather  shoes, — Pavel  Petrovitch  Kirsanoff.  In 
appearance,  he  was  about  forty-five  years  of  age : 
his  closely-clipped  grey  hair  shaded  dark  in  certain 
lights,  like  new  silver ;  his  face,  sallow,  but  devoid 
of  wrinkles,  remarkably  regular  and  pure  in  out- 
line, as  though  carved  out  with  a  light,  delicate 
chisel,  displayed  traces  of  remarkable  beauty: 
especially  fine  were  his  brilliant,  black,  almond- 
shaped  eyes.  The  whole  person  of  Arkady's 
uncle,  elegant  and  high-bred,  preserved  its  youth- 
ful grace,  and  that  aspiration,  upward,  away 
from  the  earth,  which  generally  disappears  after 
the  twentieth  year.  Pavel  Petrovitch  drew  from 
the  pocket  of  his  trousers  his  beautiful  hand  with 
its  long,  rosy  nails,  which  seemed  stiU  more  beauti- 
ful from  the  snow-whiteness  of  his  cuff'  buttoned 
with  a  single  large  opal,  and  gave  it  to  his  nephew. 
Having  accomplished  the  preliminary  European 
"  shake-hands,"  he  exchanged  three  kisses  with 
him,  in  Russian  fashion, — that  is  to  say,  he  thrice 
touched  his  cheek  with  his  perfumed  moustache, 
— and  said:  "  Welcome!  " 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  introduced  him  to  Bazaroff : 
Pavel  Petrovitch  slightly  bent  his  supple  form, 
and  slightly  smiled,  but  he  did  not  offer  his  hand, 
and  even  put  it  back  in  his  pocket. 

"  I  had  already  begun  to  think  that  you  would 
25 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

not  arrive  to-day," — he  said  in  a  pleasant  voice, 
amiably  swaying,  twitching  his  shoulders,  and  dis- 
playing his  very  fine  white  teeth. — "  Did  any- 
thing happen  on  the  road?  " 

"  Nothing  happened,"  replied  Arkady, — "  we 
were  a  little  late,  that  is  all.  But  we  are  as  hungry 
as  wolves.  Hurry  up  Prokofitch,  papa,  and  I 
will  be  back  immediately." 

"  Wait,  I  will  go  with  thee,"— exclaimed  Ba- 
zaroif ,  suddenly  tearing  himself  from  the  divan. 
The  two  young  men  left  the  room. 

"  Who  is  that?  "—asked  Pavel  Petrovitch. 

"  A  friend  of  Arkasha's,  a  very  clever  man,  ac- 
cording to  him." 

"  Is  he  going  to  make  you  a  visit?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  That  hirsute  fellow?  " 

"  Well,  yes." 

Pavel  Petrovitch  drummed  on  the  table  with  his 
finger-nails: — "I  think  that  Arkady  s'est  de- 
gourdi"  he  remarked.—"  I  am  glad  he  has  come 
back." 

At  supper  there  was  very  little  conversation. 
BazarofF,  in  particular,  said  hardly  a  word,  but 
he  ate  a  great  deal.  Nikolai  Petrovitch  narrated 
various  anecdotes  from  his  farmer's  Hf e,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  discussed  the  impending  administra- 
tive measures,  committees,  delegates,  the  necessity 
of  introducing  machinery,  and  so  forth.  Pavel 
Petrovitch  paced  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the  dining- 

26 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

room  (he  never  supped) ,  once  in  a  while  taking  a 
sip  from  his  wine-glass  filled  with  red  wine,  and 
still  more  rarely  uttering  some  remark,  or,  rather, 
some  exclamation,  like  "  Ah!  "  "  Ehe!  "  "  H'm!  " 
Arkady  communicated  some  Petersburg  news, 
but  he  felt  a  sHght  embarrassment — the  embar- 
rassment which  generally  takes  possession  of  a 
young  man  when  he  has  just  ceased  to  be  a  child 
and  has  returned  to  the  place  where  people  have 
been  accustomed  to  see  him  and  regard  him  as  a 
child.  He  lengthened  out  his  speech  unneces- 
sarily, avoided  the  word  "  papa,"  and  once  he  even 
superseded  it  with  the  word  "  father," — emitted, 
it  is  true,  through  his  teeth;  with  superfluously 
free  and  easy  manner,  he  poured  out  into  his  glass 
a  great  deal  more  wine  than  he  wanted,  and  drank 
the  whole  of  it.  Prokofitch  never  took  his  eyes 
off"  him,  and  merely  made  a  chewing  movement 
with  his  hps.  They  all  separated  immediately 
after  supper. 

"  That  uncle  of  thine  is  a  queer  sort  of  fish," 
— said  BazarofF  to  Arkady,  sitting  down  in  his 
dressing-gown  beside  him  on  his  bed,  and  sucking 
away  at  a  short  pipe. — "  One  can't  help  thinking 
that  he  has  a  pretty  dandified  style  for  the  coun- 
try. And  his  nails,  why,  you  could  send  his  nails 
to  the  exposition !  " 

"  But  thou  art,  evidently,  ignorant  of  the  fact," 
— replied  Arkady, — *'  that  he  was  a  society  lion 
in  his  time.    I  will  tell  thee  his  history  one  of  these 

27 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

days.    You  see,  he  was  a  beauty,  and  turned  the 
women's  heads." 

"  You  don't  say  so !  He  does  it  now  in  memory 
of  the  old  days.  There  is  n't  any  one  to  fascinate 
here,  more's  the  pity.  I  kept  watching  him: 
what  wonderful  cuiFs  he  has,  just  as  though 
they  were  made  of  stone,  and  his  chin  is  so  accu- 
rately shaved.  It 's  ridiculous,  is  n't  it,  Arkady 
Nikolaevitch?" 

"  Possibly :  only,  he  really  is  a  fine  man." 
"  An  archaic  manifestation!    But  thy  father  is 
a  splendid  fellow.    There  's  no  good  in  his  reading 
poetry,  and  he  probably  has  n't  much  sense  about 
the  farming,  but  he  's  a  good  soul." 
"  My  father  is  a  man  of  gold." 
"  Hast  thou  noticed  that  he  is  timid? " 
Arkady  shook  his  head,  just  as  though  he  were 
not  timid  himself. 

"  Astonishing  phenomenon  these  elderly  ro- 
manticists! "—went  on  Bazaroff.  "They  de- 
velop their  nervous  system  to  the  point  of  ex- 
asperation .  .  .  well,  and  then  the  equilibrium  is 
destroyed.  But  good-bye !  There  's  an  EngUsh 
washstand  in  my  room,  but  the  door  will  not  lock. 
All  the  same,  English  washstands  ^ — that  is  to 
say,  progress — must  be  encouraged!  " 

Bazaroff  went  off,  and  a  sensation  of  joy 
took  possession  of  Arkady.     It  is  sweet  to  fall 

^  The  Russian  washstand  has  a  reservoir  of  water  on  top,  and  no 
plug,  and  the  water  is  liberated  by  a  foot-treadle.  —Translator. 

28 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

asleep  in  the  parental  home,  in  the  familiar  hed. 
over  which  loved  hands  have  toiled,  perhaps  the 
hands  of  an  old  nurse,  those  caressing,  kind,  in- 
defatigable hands.  Arkady  recalled  Egorovna, 
and  sighed,  and  breathed  a  prayer  that  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  might  be  hers.  .  .  He  did  not  pray 
for  himself. 

Both  he  and  Bazaroif  promptly  fell  asleep,  but 
it  was  a  long  time  still  before  the  other  persons  in 
the  house  got  to  sleep.  The  return  of  his  son  had 
excited  Nikolai  Petrovitch.  He  went  to  bed,  but 
did  not  extinguish  his  candle,  and  propping  his 
head  on  his  hand,  he  indulged  in  a  prolonged 
reverie.  His  brother  sat  in  his  study  until  long 
after  midnight,  in  a  capacious  GamboiF  ^  easy- 
chair,  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  in  which  hard  coal 
was  faintly  smouldering.  Pavel  Petrovitch  had 
not  undressed  himself,  but  had  merely  replaced 
his  low  patent-leather  pumps  with  red  Chinese 
slippers  without  heels.  He  held  in  his  hands  the 
last  number  of  Galignani^  but  he  did  not  read  it ; 
he  stared  intently  into  the  grate,  where  the  bluish 
flame  flickered,  now  dying  down,  now  flashing  up 

God  knows  where  his  thoughts  were  roaming, 

but  they  were  not  roaming  in  the  past  alone :  the 
expression  of  his  face  was  concentrated  and 
gloomy,  which  is  not  the  case  when  a  man  is  en- 
grossed in  memories  only.  And  in  a  tiny  rear 
room,  on  a  large  cofl'er,  sat  the  young  woman,  Fe- 

*  A  well-known  cabinet-maker  of  that  period. — Teakslatob. 

29 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

nitchka,  in  a  sky-blue  short  jacket,^  with  a  white 
kerchief  thrown  over  her  dark  hair,  and  alter- 
nately listened,  dozed,  and  stared  at  the  door, 
which  stood  ajar,  beyond  which  a  child's  bed  was 
visible,  and  the  even  breathing  of  a  sleeping  child 
was  audible. 

^  Literally  a  "  soul-warmer  " :  a  wadded  peasant-jacket,  either  tight 
fitting  to  the  waist,  below  which  it  has  close  organ  plaits :  or  falling 
from  the  shoulders  in  broad  box-plaits  to  the  waist:  and  with  very 
long,  tapering  sleeves. — TEANgLxxoa. 


30 


On  the  following  morning,  Bazaroff  awoke 
earlier  than  any  of  the  others,  and  went  out  of 
doors.  "  Ehe!  "  he  thought,  after  casting  a  glance 
around  him,  "  this  is  n't  a  very  showy  place." 
When  Nikolai  Petrovitch  had  portioned  off  the 
land  between  himself  and  the  peasants,  he  had 
been  obhged  to  assign  for  his  new  manor-house 
four  desyatinas  of  perfectly  flat  and  naked  fields. 
He  had  erected  a  house,  offices,  and  farm-build- 
ings, had  laid  out  a  garden,  had  dug  a  pond  and 
a  couple  of  wells ;  but  the  young  trees  had  struck 
root  badly,  very  little  water  had  collected  in  the 
pond,  and  the  water  in  the  wells  proved  to  have  a 
brackish  taste.  Only  one  arbour  of  Hlacs  and 
acacia  had  grown  fairly  well :  in  it  they  sometimes 
drank  tea  and  dined.  In  a  few  minutes,  Bazaroff 
had  made  the  round  of  all  the  paths  in  the  garden, 
had  paid  a  httle  visit  to  the  cattle-yard  and  to 
the  stable,  had  hunted  out  two  small  boys  be- 
longing to  the  house-servants,  with  whom  he  had 
immediately  struck  up  an  acquaintance,  and  had 
gone  off  with  them  to  a  small  marsh,  situated 
about  a  verst  distant  from  the  manor-house,  in 
quest  of  frogs. 

31 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  What  dost  thou  want  frogs  for,  master? " 
one  of  the  little  boys  asked  him. 

"  Why,  for  this,"— replied  Bazaroff,  who  pos- 
sessed a  special  faculty  for  inspiring  the  lower 
classes  with  confidence  in  him,  although  he  never 
indulged  them,  and  treated  them  carelessly: — 
"  I  'm  going  to  split  the  frog  open,  and  see  what 
is  going  on  inside  of  it;  and  as  thou  and  I  are 
exactly  like  frogs,  except  that  we  walk  on  our 
legs,  then  I  shall  also  know  what  is  going  on  inside 
of  us." 

"  But  what  dost  thou  want  to  know  that  for?  " 

"  In  order  that  I  may  not  make  mistakes,  if 
thou  shouldst  fall  ill  and  I  had  to  cure  thee." 

"  Art  thou  a  doctur?  "^ 

"  Yes." 

"  Dost  hear,  Vaska,  the  gentleman  says  that 
thou  and  I  are  just  the  same  as  frogs.  Won- 
derful!" 

"I'm  afraid  o^  them,  of  frogs,"— remarked 
Vaska,  a  lad  of  seven,  with  a  head  as  white  as 
flax,  clad  in  a  grey  kazak  coat  with  a  standing 
collar,  and  barefooted. 

"  What  is  there  to  be  afraid  of?  they  don't  bite, 
do  they?"* 

"  Come,  now,  hop  into  the  water,  you  philos- 
ophers,"— said  BazaroiF. 

In  the  meantime,  Nikolai  Petrovitch  had  also 
waked  up,  and  had  betaken  himself  to  Arkady, 

1  The  peasant  pronunciation.— Transistor. 

32 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

whom  he  found  dressed.  Father  and  son  went  out 
on  the  veranda,  under  the  shelter  of  the  awning : 
close  to  the  railings,  on  a  table  between  big 
bunches  of  lilacs,  the  samovar  was  already  bub- 
bling. A  little  girl  made  her  appearance — the 
same  one  who  had  been  the  first  to  meet 
the  travellers  on  the  porch— and  said  in  a  shrill 
voice: 

"  Feodosya  Nikolaevna  does  not  feel  quite  well, 
and  cannot  come;  she  ordered  me  to  ask  you, 
whether  you  will  pour  tea  for  yourselves,  or  shall 
she  send  Dunyasha? " 

"  I  will  pour  it  myself,  myself," — Nikolai  Pe- 
trovitch  caught  her  up  hastily. — "  How  dost  thou 
take  thy  tea,  Arkady, — with  cream  or  with 
lemon?" 

"  With  cream," — repHed  Arkady,  and  after  a 
brief  pause  he  ejaculated: — "  Papa!  " 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  looked  at  his  son  with  dis- 
comfiture. — ' '  What  ?  " — he  said. 

Arkady  dropped  his  eyes. 

"  Excuse  me,  papa,  if  my  question  seems  to 
thee  improper," — he  began;  "but  thou,  thyself, 
by  thy  frankness  yesterday,  hast  challenged  me 
to  frankness  ....  thou  wilt  not  be  angry? . . . ." 

"  Speak  on." 

*'  Thou  givest  me  boldness  to  ask  thee.  .  .  Is  n't 
Fen  ...  is  n't  it  because  I  am  here  that  she  is  not 
coming  to  pour  the  tea?  " 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  turned  slightly  aside. 
83 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Perhaps,"— he  said  at  last,—"  she  supposes 
. .  .  she  is  ashamed  .  .  .  ." 

Arkady  swiftly  turned  his  eyes  on  his  father. 

"  There  is  no  necessity  for  her  to  feel  ashamed. 
In  the  first  place,  thou  art  acquainted  with  my 
manner  of  thought  "  (Arkady  found  it  extremely 
pleasant  to  utter  these  words)  ;  "  and,  in  the  sec- 
ond place,  have  I  the  desire  to  interfere,  by  so 
much  as  a  hair's-breadth,  with  thy  life,  thy  habits? 
Moreover,  I  am  convinced,  that  thou  couldst  not 
make  a  bad  choice:  if  thou  hast  permitted  her  to 
live  under  one  roof  with  thee,  she  must  be  worthy 
of  it;  in  any  case,  the  son  is  not  his  father's  judge, 
and  in  particular  I — and  in  particular  of  such  a 
father,  who,  like  thyself,  has  never  restricted  my 
freedom  in  any  respect  whatever." 

Arkady's  voice  had  trembled  at  first:  he  felt 
that  he  was  magnanimous,  but,  at  the  same  time, 
he  understood  that  he  was  delivering  something 
in  the  nature  of  an  exhortation  to  his  father ;  but 
the  sound  of  his  own  speech  acts  powerfully  on 
a  man,  and  Arkady  uttered  his  closing  words 
firmly,  even  effectively. 

"  Thanks,  Arkasha,"— said  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
in  a  dull  tone,  and  again  his  fingers  strayed  over 
his  eyebrows  and  his  forehead.—"  Thy  assump- 
tions really  are  correct.  Of  course,  if  that  girl 
were  not  worthy  .  .  .  This  is  not  a  fickle  fancy. 
It  is  not  easy  for  me  to  talk  to  thee  about  this; 
but  thou  understandest  that  it  was  difiicult  for 

84 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

her  to  come  hither,  into  thy  presence,  especially 
on  the  first  day  of  thy  home-coming." 

"  In  that  case,  I  will  go  to  her  myself,"— cried 
Arkady,  with  a  fresh  impulse  of  magnanimous 
sentiments,  and  he  jumped  up  from  the  table.— 
"  I  will  explain  to  her  that  she  has  no  pause  to 
feel  ashamed  before  me." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  rose  also. 

"  Arkady,"— he  began,—"  please  .  .  .  how  is  it 
possible  .  .  .  there  ....  I  have  not  forewarned 
thee " 

But  Arkady  was  no  longer  listening  to  him, 
and  had  quitted  the  veranda.  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
looked  after  him,  and  sank  down  on  his  chair  in 
confusion.  His  heart  beat  violently. . . .  Whether 
it  was  that,  at  that  moment,  the  inevitable  strange- 
ness of  the  future  relations  between  him  and  his 
son  presented  itself  to  him,  or  that  he  recognised 
the  fact  that  Arkady  would  have  shown  almost 
more  respect  for  him  had  he  not  touched  on  that 
matter  at  all,  or  whether  he  was  reproaching  him- 
self with  weakness — it  would  be  difficult  to  say: 
all  those  feelings  were  within  him,  but  in  the  shape 
of  sensations — and  not  clear  sensations,  at  that: 
but  the  flush  did  not  leave  his  face,  and  his  heart 
beat  violently. 

Hasty  footsteps  became  audible,  and  Arkady 
emerged  upon  the  veranda. — "  We  have  made 
acquaintance,  father  1 " — he  cried,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  affectionate  and  amiable  triumph  on  his 

35 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

face. — "  Feodosya  Nikolaevna  really  is  not  very 
well  to-day,  and  will  come  later.  But  why  didst 
not  thou  tell  me  that  I  had  a  brother?  I  would 
have  given  him  a  good  kissing  yesterday  evening, 
as  I  have  done  just  now." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  tried  to  say  something,  tried 
to  rise  and  hold  out  his  arms.  .  . 

Arkady  threw  himself  on  his  neck. 

"  What 's  this?  Hugging  each  other  again?  " 
—rang  out  Pavel  Petrovitch's  voice  behind  them. 

Father  and  son  were  equally  deHghted  at  his 
appearance  at  that  moment:  there  are  touch- 
ing situations,  from  which,  notwithstanding,  one 
wishes  to  escape  as  promptly  as  possible. 

"  Why  art  thou  surprised? " — said  Nikolai 
Petrovitch  merrily.—"  I  have  been  longing  for 
Arkasha  for  ages  ....  I  have  n't  yet  had  a 
chance  to  stare  my  fill  at  him  since  yesterday." 

"  I  *m  not  surprised  in  the  least," — remarked 
Pavel  Petrovitch:—"  I  'm  even  not  disincUned  to 
give  him  a  hug  myself." 

Arkady  stepped  up  to  his  uncle,  and  again  felt 
on  his  cheeks  the  touch  of  his  perfumed  mous- 
tache. Pavel  Petrovitch  seated  himself  at  the 
table.  He  wore  an  elegant  morning  costume,  in 
English  fashion ;  his  head  was  adorned  with  a  tiny 
fez.  This  fez  and  his  carelessly  knotted  tie  hinted 
at  the  freedom  of  country  life ;  but  the  stiff  shirt- 
collar— not  white,  it  is  true,  but  coloured,  as  is 

86 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

proper  for  a  morning  toilet — impinged  upon  the 
well-shaved  chin  with  its  habitual  implacability. 

"  Where  is  thy  new  friend?  "—he  asked  Ar- 
kady. 

"  He  is  not  in  the  house ;  he  generally  rises  early 
and  goes  off  somewhere.  The  chief  point  is,  that 
one  need  pay  no  attention  to  him:  he  is  not  fond 
of  ceremony." 

"  Yes,  that  is  evident."— Pavel  Petrovitch  be- 
gan, in  a  leisurely  way,  to  spread  butter  on  his 
bread. — "  Is  he  going  to  make  thee  a  long  visit?  " 

"  That  is  as  it  happens.  He  has  turned  aside 
here,  on  his  way  to  his  father's." 

"  And  where  does  his  father  live?  " 

"  In  our  government,  eighty  versts  from  here. 
He  has  a  small  estate  there.  He  used  to  be  a  regi- 
mental doctor." 

"  Te,  te,  te,  te That  is  precisely  the  reason 

why  I  have  kept  asking  myself:  Where  have  I 
heard  that  name  Bazaroff?  .  .  .  Nikolai,  does 
my  memory  serve  me,  and  was  not  the  medical 
man  in  our  father's  division  Bazaroff?  " 

"  It  strikes  me  that  it  was." 

"  Precisely,  precisely.  So  that  medical  man  is 
his  father.  H'm!  "—Pavel  Petrovitch  twitched 
his  moustache. — "  Well,  and  what  sort  of  person 
is  Mr.  Bazaroff  himself?  "  he  asked,  with  pauses 
between  the  words. 

"What  sort  of  person  is  Bazaroff  ?  "—Ar- 

87 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

kady  laughed.—"  Would  you  like  to  have  me  tell 
you,  my  dear  uncle,  what  sort  of  person  he  is?  " 

"  Pray  do,  my  dear  nephew." 

"  He  is  a  nihilist." 

"  What?  "—asked  Nikolai  Petrovitch;  and 
Pavel  Petrovitch  elevated  his  knife,  with  a  bit  of 
butter  sticking  to  the  blade,  in  the  air,  and  re- 
mained motionless. 

"  He  is  a  nihilist,"— repeated  Arkady. 

"  A  nihihst,"  said  Nikolai  Petrovitch.— 
"  That  comes  from  the  Latin  nihil^  nothings  so 
far  as  I  can  judge ;  consequently,  that  word  desig- 
nates a  man  who  .  .  .  who  recognises  nothing." 

"  Say: '  who  respects  nothing,'  "—put  in  Pavel 
Petrovitch,  and  devoted  himself  once  more  to  his 
butter. 

"  Who  treats  everything  from  a  critical  point 
of  view," — remarked  Arkady. 

"  And  is  n't  that  exactly  the  same  thing?  "— 
inquired  Pavel  Petrovitch. 

"  No,  it  is  not  exactly  the  same  thing.  A  nihil- 
ist is  a  man  who  does  not  bow  before  any  au- 
thority whatever,  who  does  not  accept  a  single 
principle  on  faith,  with  whatever  respect  that 
principle  may  be  environed." 

"  And  dost  thou  think  that  is  a  good  thing?  " 
—interrupted  Pavel  Petrovitch. 

"  That  depends  on  who  it  is,  dear  uncle.  It  is 
all  right  for  one  man,  and  very  bad  for  another." 

"  You  don't  say  so.  Well,  I  perceive  that  that 
88 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

is  not  in  our  line.  We  people  of  the  old  school 
assume  that,  without  principles  "  (Pavel  Petro- 
vitch  pronounced  this  word  softly,  in  the  French 
style.  Arkady,  on  the  contrary,  pronounced  it 
"  principles,"  throwing  the  accent  on  the  first  syl- 
lable) ,  "  without  accepted  principles,  as  thou  say- 
est,  it  is  impossible  to  take  a  step,  or  to  breathe, 
on  faith.  Vous  avez  change  tout  cela.  God  grant 
us  health  and  the  rank  of  general,  but  we  will 
content  ourselves  with  admiring  the  Messrs. 
what  do  you  call  it?  " 

"  The  nihilists,"— said  Arkady  with  much  dis- 
tinctness. 

"  Yes.  They  used  to  be  Hegelists,  and  now 
they  are  nihilists.  Let  us  see,  how  you  will  exist 
in  the  vacuum,  in  the  atmospheric  expanse;  but 
now,  be  so  good  as  to  ring  the  beU,  brother,  Niko- 
lai Petrovitch,  it  is  time  for  me  to  drink  my 
cocoa." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  rang,  and  shouted:  "  Dun- 
yashal"  But,  instead  of  Dunyasha,  Fenitchka 
herself  made  her  appearance  on  the  veranda.  She 
was  a  young  woman  of  three  and  twenty,  all  white 
and  soft,  with  dark  hair  and  eyes,  red,  child- 
ishly-plump lips,  and  tender  hands.  She  wore  a 
neat  print  gown ;  a  new,  light-blue  kerchief  rested 
lightly  on  her  plump  shoulders.  She  carried 
a  large  cup  of  cocoa,  and  setting  it  down  in  front 
of  Pavel  Petrovitch,  became  covered  with  con- 
fusion: the  hot  blood  diffused  itself  in  a  crimson 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

flood  beneath  the  delicate  skin  of  her  pretty  face. 
She  dropped  her  eyes,  and  remained  standing  be- 
side the  table,  lightly  resting  upon  it  the  very  tips 
of  her  fingers.  She  seemed  to  be  ashamed  of  hav- 
ing come,  and,  at  the  same  time,  she  felt,  ap- 
parently, that  she  had  a  right  to  come. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  knit  his  brows  sternly,  and 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  was  overwhelmed  with  con- 
fusion. 

"  Good  morning,  Fenitchka," — he  muttered 
through  his  teeth. 

"  Good  morning,  sir," — she  replied,  in  a  sonor- 
ous but  not  loud  voice,  and,  casting  a  sidelong 
glance  at  Arkady,  who  bestowed  a  friendly  smile 
on  her,  she  softly  withdrew.  She  walked  with  a 
slight  waddle,  but  it  suited  her. 

Silence  reigned  on  the  veranda  for  the  space 
of  several  minutes.  Pavel  Petrovitch  sipped  his 
cocoa,  and  suddenly  raised  his  head. — "  Here  is 
Mr.  Nihilist  about  to  favor  us  with  his  company," 
— he  said,  in  an  undertone. 

And,  in  fact,  Bazaroff  was  coming  through  the 
garden,  striding  across  the  flower-beds.  His 
linen  coat  and  trousers  were  spattered  with  mud ; 
a  clinging  marsh  plant  encircled  the  crown  of  his 
old,  round  hat;  in  his  right  hand  he  grasped  a 
small  bag;  in  the  bag  some  live  creature  was 
squirming.  He  rapidly  approached  the  veranda, 
and  nodding  his  head,  he  said: — "  Good  morning, 
gentlemen;  excuse  me  for  being  late  to  tea;  I  will 

40 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

be  back  directly;  I  must  provide  for  these  pris- 
oners." 

"  What  have  you  there— leeches?  "—inquired 
Pavel  Petrovitch. 

"  No,  frogs." 

"  Do  you  eat  them— or  raise  them?  " 

"  They  are  for  experiments," — said  BazarofF 
indifferently,  and  went  into  the  house. 

"  He  is  going  to  cut  them  up," — remarked 
Pavel  Petrovitch. — "  He  does  not  believe  in  prin- 
ciples, but  he  does  believe  in  frogs." 

Arkady  gazed  at  his  uncle  with  compassion; 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  shrugged  his  shoulders  on  the 
sly.  Pavel  Petrovitch  himself  was  conscious  that 
his  witticism  had  not  been  a  success,  and  began  to 
talk  about  the  farming  operations,  and  the  new 
overseer,  who  had  come  to  him  on  the  previous 
day  to  complain  that  labourer  Foma  was  "  de- 
baucheering  "  and  was  incorrigible.  "  He  's  a 
regular  ^sop,"  he  said,  among  other  things:  "  he 
has  protested  everywhere  that  he  is  a  bad  man; 
after  he  has  lived  a  while  longer,  he  '11  get  rid  of 
his  foUy." 


41 


VI 

Bazaeoff  returned,  sat  down  at  the  table,  and 
began  hastily  to  drink  tea.  Both  brothers  stared 
at  him  in  silence,  while  Arkady  glanced  stealth- 
ily, now  at  his  father,  now  at  his  uncle. 

"  Have  you  walked  far  from  here? " — asked 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  at  last. 

"  You  have  a  small  swamp  yonder,  alongside 
the  aspen  grove.  I  started  up  five  woodcock; 
thou  mightest  shoot  them,  Arkady." 

"Don't  you  shoot?" 

"  No." 

"  Do  you  occupy  yourself  with  the  physical 
sciences  in  particular?  " — inquired  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch, in  his  turn. 

"  Yes,  with  physics ;  with  the  natural  sciences 
in  general." 

'*  The  Germans,  I  am  told,  have  made  great 
progress  in  that  department  of  late." 

"  Yes,  the  Germans  are  our  teachers  in  that," 
— rephed  BazaroiF  carelessly. 

The  word  "  Germantzy "  Pavel  Petrovitch 
had  employed,  instead  of  "  nyemtzy,"  ^  by  way  of 
irony,  which,  however,  no  one  noticed. 

"  Have  you  so  high  an  opinion  of  the  Ger- 

1  Ny^metz,  "the  dumb  one,"  (that  is  to  say:  a  person  who  cannot 
talk  the  language  of  the  country),  is  applied  to  foreigners  in  general, 
and  Germans  in  particular. — Tbaxuator. 

42 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

mans?  "—said  Pavel  Petrovitch,  with  sedulous 
courtesy.  He  had  begun  to  feel  a  secret  irrita- 
tion. His  aristocratic  nature  was  stirred  to  re- 
volt by  Bazaroff 's  perfectly  free-and-easy  man- 
ners. That  medical  man's  son  was  not  only  not 
afraid,  he  even  rephed  abruptly  and  reluctantly, 
and  there  was  something  rude,  almost  insulting, 
in  the  very  sound  of  his  voice. 

"  The  learned  men  there  are  a  practical  race." 

"  Just  so,  just  so.  Well,  you  probably  have 
not  so  flattering  an  opinion  of  the  Russian  sci- 
entists? " 

"  Probably,  that  is  so." 

"  That  is  very  praiseworthy  self-renunciation," 
— ejaculated  Pavel  Petrovitch,  drawing  up  his 
figure,  and  throwing  his  head  back.—"  But  how 
comes  it  that,  as  Arkady  Nikolaitch  was  just 
teUing  us,  you  do  not  recognise  any  authorities? 
Do  not  you  believe  in  them?  " 

"  But  why  should  I  recognise  them?  And 
what  should  I  beheve  in?  They  tell  me  a  fact, 
and  I  believe  it,  that  is  all." 

"  But  do  the  Germans  all  speak  facts?  "—said 
Pavel  Petrovitch,  and  his  face  assumed  an  indif- 
ferent, distant  expression,  as  though  he  had 
wholly  withdrawn  into  some  height  above  the 
clouds. 

"  Not  all,"— replied  Bazaroff,  with  a  short 
yawn,  being,  evidently,  unwiUing  to  prolong  the 
controversy. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  darted  a  glance  at  Arkady, 
43 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

as  much  as  to  say :  "  Thy  friend  is  polite,  thou 
must  admit  that." — "  So  far  as  I  myself  am  con- 
cerned,"— he  began  again,  not  without  an  effort, 
— "  sinful  man  that  I  am,  I  am  not  fond  of  the 
Germans.  I  am  not  alluding  to  the  Russian- 
Germans  of  course ;  every  one  knows  what  sort  of 
birds  they  are.  But  I  cannot  stomach  the  Ger- 
man-Germans either.  Those  of  former  days  are 
well  enough;  then  they  had  Schiller,  I  believe, 

Goetthe My  brother  here,  accords  them 

special  favour.  .  .  But  now  a  lot  of  chemists  and 
materiahsts  have  sprung  up  among  them " 

"  A  respectable  chemist  is  twenty  times  more 
useful  than  any  poet," — interrupted  Bazaroff . 

"You  don't  say  so!" — said  Pavel  Petrovitch, 
and  barely  elevated  his  eyebrows,  exactly  as 
though  he  were  in  a  doze. — "  I  suppose  that  you 
do  not  recognise  art?  " 

"  The  art  of  making  money  without  sensational 
aids!" — exclaimed  Bazaroff,  with  a  scornful 
sneer. 

"  Exactly  so,  sir;  exactly  so,  sir.  You  are 
pleased  to  jest.  So  you  reject  that?  Let  us  as- 
sume that  you  do.  That  means  that  you  believe 
only  in  science? " 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  believe  in 
nothing;  and  what  is  science — science  in  general? 
There  is  science  which  is  a  trade,  a  vocation;  but 
science  in  the  abstract  does  not  exist." 

"  Very  good,  sir.    Well,  and  in  regard  to  other 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

laws,  which  are  accepted  in  human  existence, — 
do  you  hold  the  same  negative  course  about 
them? " 

"  What  is  this,  a  cross-examination?  "  inquired 
Bazaroff. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  paled  shghtly Nikolai 

Petrovitch  regarded  it  as  his  duty  to  join  in  the 
conversation. 

"  You  and  I  wiU  discuss  this  subject  more  in 
detail,  sometime,  my  dear  Evgeny  Vasilitch;  I 
will  learn  your  opinion,  and  express  my  own. 
For  my  own  part,  I  am  very  glad  that  you  are 
devoting  yourself  to  the  natural  sciences.  I  have 
heard  that  Liebig  has  made  wonderful  discoveries 
in  regard  to  fertilising  the  land.  You  may  be 
able  to  assist  me  in  my  agricultural  work:  you 
may  be  able  to  give  me  some  useful  advice." 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  Nikolai  Petrovitch ;  but 
what  have  we  to  do  with  Liebig !  One  must  first 
learn  the  alphabet,  and  then  take  hold  of  a  book, 
but  so  far  we  have  not  even  set  our  eyes  on  A." 

"  Well,  I  perceive  that  thou  really  art  a  ni- 
hihst,"  thought  Nikolai  Petrovitch.—"  Never- 
theless, permit  me  to  have  recourse  to  you,  in  case 
of  need," — he  added  aloud. — "  And  now,  bi-o- 
ther,  I  think  it  is  time  for  us  to  go  and  have  a 
talk  with  the  overseer." 

Pavel  Petrovitch  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  Yes," — said  he,  without  looking  at  any  one, 
— "  't  is  a  great  misfortune  to  live  thus  for  five 

45 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

years  in  the  country,  at  a  distance  from  great 
minds!  One  becomes  a  downright  fool.  One  is 
endeavouring  not  to  forget  what  he  has  learned, 
when— bang!— it  suddenly  appears  that  it  is  all 
nonsense,  and  one  is  told  that  sensible  folks  do 
not  bother  themselves  any  longer  about  such  fol- 
lies, and  that  one  is  as  good  as  a  simpleton  who 
has  fallen  behind  the  times.  What  is  one  to  do! 
Evidently,  the  young  folks  are  really  wiser  than 
we  are." 

Pavel  Petrovitch  wheeled  slowly  round  on  his 
heels,  and  slowly  withdrew;  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
followed  him. 

"  Well,  is  he  always  like  that?  "—inquired  Ba- 
zaroff  coolly  of  Arkady,  as  soon  as  the  door 
closed  behind  the  two  others. 

"  See  here,  Evgeny,  thy  manner  toward  him 
has  been  altogether  too  abrupt," — remarked  Ar- 
kady.—" Thou  hast  offended  him." 

"  Why,  the  idea  of  my  coddling  these  rural  aris- 
tocrats !  Why,  it 's  nothing  but  self-conceit,  the 
habits  of  a  society  lion,  foppishness.  Come  now, 
he  ought  to  have  continued  his  career  in  Peters- 
burg, since  that  is  the  cut  of  his  jib.  .  .  .  How- 
ever, God  be  with  him— I  wash  my  hands  of  him 
altogether!  I  have  found  a  pretty  rare  specimen 
of  a  water-beetle,  Dytiscus  marginatus — dost 
thou  know  it?    I  '11  show  it  to  thee." 

"  I  promised  to  narrate  his  history  to  thee," 
began  Arkady. 

46 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  The  history  of  the  beetle?  " 

"  Come,  stop  that,  Evgeny.  My  uncle's  his- 
tory. Thou  wilt  see  that  he  is  not  the  sort  of 
man  that  thou  imaginest.  He  is  more  deserving 
of  pity  than  of  ridicule." 

"  I  do  not  dispute  that ;  but  what  is  it  to  thee 
anyhow? " 

"  We  must  be  just,  Evgeny." 

"  On  what  grounds?  " 

"  No,  hsten.  .  .  ." 

And  Arkady  related  to  him  his  uncle's  story. 
The  reader  will  find  it  in  the  following  chapter. 


VII 

Pavel  Petrovitch  Kirsanoff  had  received  his 
earliest  education  at  home,  hke  his  younger  bro- 
ther, Nikolai,  and,  later  on,  in  the  Pages  Corps. 
From  his  childhood,  he  had  been  distinguished 
for  his  remarkable  beauty ;  added  to  this,  he  was 
self-confident,  given  to  raillery,  and  splenetic  in 
a  rather  amusing  fashion — he  could  not  fail  to 
please.  He  began  to  be  seen  everywhere,  as  soon 
as  he  had  become  an  officer.  He  was  petted,  and 
he  coddled  himself;  he  even  played  the  fool,  he 
even  indulged  in  caprices,  but  this  suited  his 
style.  The  women  went  wild  over  him,  the  men 
called  him  a  fop,  and  secretly  envied  him.  He 
lived,  as  we  have  already  said,  in  an  apartment 
with  his  brother,  whom  he  sincerely  loved,  al- 
though he  did  not  resemble  him  in  the  least. 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  walked  with  a  slight  limp,  had 
small,  agreeable,  but  rather  melancholy  features, 
small,  black  eyes,  and  soft,  thin  hair;  he  hked  to 
be  lazy,  but  was  also  fond  of  reading,  and  was 
afraid  of  society.  Pavel  Petrovitch  never  spent 
a  single  evening  at  home,  gloried  in  his  audacity 
and  cleverness  (he  had  brought  gymnastics  into 
fashion  among  the  young  men) ,  and  had  read  not 

48 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

more  than  five  or  six  books — in  French — alto- 
gether. At  the  age  of  eight  and  twenty,  he  was 
aLready  a  captain ;  a  brilliant  career  awaited  him. 
All  of  a  sudden,  everything  was  changed. 

At  that  time,  a  woman  who  has  not  yet  been 
forgotten,  Princess  R  .  .  ,  was  wont  to  make  her 
appearance,  from  time  to  time,  in  Petersburg 
society.  She  had  a  well-educated  and  decorous 
but  somewhat  stupid  husband,  and  no  children. 
She  would  suddenly  go  abroad,  and  as  suddenly 
return  to  Russia,  and,  in  general,  she  led  a 
strange  life.  She  bore  the  reputation  of  being  a 
giddy  coquette,  gave  herself  up  with  enthusiasm 
to  all  sorts  of  pleasures,  danced  until  she  was 
ready  to  drop,  laughed  loudly  and  jested  with  the 
young  men,  whom  she  received,  before  dinner, 
in  a  half -darkened  drawing-room,  and  at  night 
wept  and  prayed,  and  found  rest  nowhere,  and 
often  flung  herself  about  the  room  until  day- 
break, wringing  her  hands  with  grief,  or  sat,  all 
pale  and  cold,  reading  the  Psalter.  Day  arrived, 
and  again  she  turned  into  a  woman  of  the  world, 
again  she  went  out  into  society,  laughed,  chat- 
tered, and  fairly  rushed  at  everything  which 
could  afford  the  least  diversion.  She  was  won- 
derfully built;  her  hair,  golden  in  hue  and  as 
heavy  as  gold,  hung  below  her  knees ;  yet  no  one 
would  have  called  her  a  beauty;  the  only  good 
point  about  her  face  was  her  eyes,  and  not  even 
her  eyes  themselves— they  were  not  large,  and 

49 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

were  grey— but  their  glance,  swift  and  deep, 
heedless  to  recklessness,  and  thoughtful  to  melan- 
choly,— was  a  mysterious  glance.  There  was  an 
unusual  gleam  about  them,  even  when  her  tongue 
was  babbling  the  most  idle  nonsense.  She  dressed 
with  elegance.  Pavel  Petrovitch  met  her  at  a 
ball,  danced  the  mazurka  with  her,  in  the  course 
of  which  she  did  not  utter  a  single  sensible  word, 
and  fell  passionately  in  love  with  her.  Being 
accustomed  to  conquests,  he  speedily  attained  his 
object  in  this  case  also;  but  the  ease  of  his  victory 
did  not  chill  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  became 
still  more  torturingly,  still  more  firmly  attached 
to  this  woman,  in  whom,  even  when  she  had  given 
herself  irrevocably,  there  still  seemed  to  linger 
something  intimate  and  inaccessible,  into  which 
no  one  could  penetrate.  What  it  was  that  nested 
in  that  soul,— God  only  knows!  She  appeared 
to  be  in  the  grasp  of  some  powers  which  were 
mysterious  and  unknown  even  to  herself;  they 
played  with  her  as  they  would;  her  hmited  mind 
could  not  reconcile  itself  to  their  freaks.  .  .  .  Her 
whole  conduct  presented  a  series  of  incongrui- 
ties; the  only  letters  which  might  have  aroused 
the  just  suspicions  of  her  husband  she  wrote 
to  a  man  who  was  almost  a  stranger  to  her,  and 
her  love  had  a  taste  of  sadness:  she  neither 
laughed  nor  jested  with  the  one  whom  she  had 
chosen,  and  she  listened  to  him,  and  gazed  at  him, 
with  surprise.     Sometimes,  and  in  the  majority 

50 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

of  cases  suddenly,  this  surprise  passed  over  into 
cold  terror;  her  face  assumed  a  wild  and  death- 
like expression ;  she  locked  herself  up  in  her  bed- 
room, and  her  maid,  by  putting  her  ear  to  the 
keyhole,  could  hear  her  subdued  sobbing.  More 
than  once,  on  returning  home  after  a  tender  tryst, 
Kirsanoff  felt  in  liis  heart  th^rt  lacerating  and 
bitter  vexation  which  springs  up  in  the  heart 
after  a  decisive  failure.  "  What  more  do  I 
want? "  he  would  ask  himself,  but  his  heart  con- 
tinued to  ache.  One  day  he  gave  her  a  ring  with 
a  sphinx  carved  on  the  stone. 

"  What  is  this?  "—she  asked:—"  a  sphinx?  " 

"  Yes,"— he  replied,—"  and  that  sphinx  is— 
yourself." 

"I? " — she  asked,  and  slowly  raised  her  enig- 
matic eyes  to  his.—"  Do  you  know  that  is  very 
flattering?  " — she  added,  with  an  insignificant 
smile,  but  her  eyes  continued  to'  wear  their 
strange  gaze. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  felt  heavy  at  heart  even 
when  Princess  R  . .  loved  him ;  but  when  she  grew 
cold  toward  him — and  this  came  about  rather 
promptly,  he  almost  went  crazy.  He  tormented 
himself,  he  raged  with  jealousy,  he  gave  her  no 
peace,  he  tagged  about  everywhere  after  her ;  his 
importunate  persecution  bored  her,  and  she  went 
abroad.  He  resigned  from  the  service,  despite 
the  entreaties  of  his  friends  and  the  exhortations 
of  his  superior  officers,  and  followed  the  Prin- 

51 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

cess;  he  spent  four  years  in  foreign  lands,  now 
chasing  after  her,  now  intentionally  losing  sight 
of  her:  he  was  ashamed  oi'  himself,  he  was  en- 
raged at  his  pusillanimity  ....  but  nothing  did 
any  good.  Her  image,  that  incomprehensible, 
almost  absurd,  but  enchanting  image,  had  en- 
sconced itself  too  deeply  in  his  soul.  In  Baden 
he  somehow  resumed  his  former  relations  with 
her,  and,  to  all  appearances,  she  had  never  loved 
him  so  passionately  .  .  .  but  in  a  month  all  was  at 
an  end;  the  flame  had  flared  up  for  the  last  time, 
and  had  been  extinguished  forever.  With  a 
foreboding  of  the  inevitable  parting,  he  endeav- 
oured, at  least,  to  remain  her  friend,  as  though 
friendship  with  such  a  woman  were  possible.  .  .  . 
She  quietly  left  Baden,  and,  from  that  day  forth 
persistently  avoided  Kirsanoff".  He  returned  to 
Russia,  tried  to  take  up  his  old  life,  but  could  no 
longer  get  into  the  former  track.  Like  a  hunted 
animal,  he  wandered  from  place  to  place ;  he  still 
went  into  society— he  had  preserved  all  the  habits 
of  a  man  of  the  world;  he  could  boast  of  two  or 
three  new  conquests;  but  he  no  longer  expected 
anything  special  of  himself,  or  of  others;  he  un- 
dertook no  enterprises.  He  grew  old,  his  hair 
turned  grey ;  it  became  a  necessity  with  him  to  sit 
at  the  club,  to  get  bitterly  bored,  to  dispute  coldly 
in  bachelor  society, — which  is  well  known  to  be 
a  bad  sign.  As  a  matter  of  course,  he  did  not 
dream  of  marriage.     Ten  years  passed  in  this 

52 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

manner,  in  a  colorless,  fruitless,  swift,  frightfully 
swift  fashion.  Nowhere  does  time  fly  so  rapidly 
as  in  Russia;  it  is  said  that  it  flies  still  more 
swiftly  in  prison.  One  day,  at  dinner  in  the  club, 
Pavel  Petrovitch  heard  of  Princess  R  .  .  's  death. 
She  had  died  in  Paris,  in  a  condition  bordering 
on  insanity.  He  rose  from  the  table,  and  paced 
the  rooms  of  the  club  for  a  long  time,  pausing, 
as  though  rooted  to  the  spot,  beside  the  card- 
tables,  but  he  did  not  return  home  any  earlier 
than  usual.  Some  time  later,  he  received  a 
packet  addressed  to  him:  it  contained  the  ring 
which  he  had  given  to  the  Princess.  She  had 
drawn  Hues,  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  over  the 
sphinx,  and  had  requested  that  he  should  be  told 
that  the  cross  was  the  solution  of  the  riddle. 

This  happened  in  the  beginning  of  1848,  at 
the  very  time  when  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  having 
lost  his  wife,  had  come  to  Petersburg.  Pavel 
Petrovitch  had  hardly  seen  his  brother  since  the 
latter  had  settled  down  in  the  country;  Nikolai 
Petrovitch's  marriage  had  coincided  with  the 
very  first  days  of  Pavel  Petrovitch's  acquaintance 
with  the  Princess.  On  his  return  from  abroad, 
he  had  gone  to  him,  with  the  intention  of  spend- 
ing a  couple  of  months  with  him,  of  admiring  his 
happiness,  but  he  had  lived  only  one  week  with 
him.  The  diff*erence  in  the  situation  of  the  two 
brothers  had  proved  to  be  too  great.  In  1848  that 
difference  was  lessened:  Nikolai  Petrovitch  had 

53 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

lost  his  wife,  Pavel  Petrovitch  had  lost  his  mem- 
ories: after  the  death  of  the  Princess,  he  tried 
not  to  think  of  her.  But  Nikolai  retained  the 
consciousness  of  a  hf  e  which  had  been  regularly 
spent,  his  son  was  growing  up  before  his  eyes; 
Pavel,  on  the  contrary,  a  soUtary  bachelor,  had 
entered  upon  that  confused,  twiHght  period,  the 
period  of  regrets  which  resemble  hopes,  of  hopes 
which  resemble  regrets,  when  youth  is  gone,  and 
old  age  has  not  yet  come. 

This  period  was  more  difficult  for  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch than  for  any  other  man:  having  lost  his  past, 
he  had  lost  all. 

"  I  do  not  invite  thee  to  Marino  now,"— Niko- 
lai Petrovitch  said  to  him  one  day  (he  had  given 
his  estate  that  name,  in  honour  of  his  wife), — 
"  thou  wert  bored  there  even  during  the  hfetime 
of  the  deceased,  but  now,  I  think,  thou  wouldst 
perish  with  irksomeness." 

"  I  was  still  stupid  and  restless  then," — replied 
Pavel  Petrovitch:— "  since  that  time  I  have 
calmed  down,  even  if  I  have  not  grown  any  wiser. 
Now,  on  the  contrary,  if  thou  shouldst  invite  me, 
I  am  ready  to  settle  down  in  thy  house  forever." 

In  place  of  a  reply,  Nikolai  Petrovitch  em- 
braced him;  but  a  year  and  a  half  elapsed  after 
this  conversation  before  Pavel  Petrovitch  made 
up  his  mind  to  put  his  intention  into  execution. 
On  the  other  hand,  having  once  settled  down  in 
the  country,  he  did  not  again  leave  it,  even  during 

54 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

those  three  winters  which  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
spent  in  Petersburg  with  his  son.  He  began  to 
read,  chiefly  in  English;  he  arranged  his  whole 
life,  in  general,  on  the  English  pattern,  rarely  met 
his  neighbours,  and  went  out  only  to  the  elections,^ 
where  he  mostly  held  his  tongue,  only  occasionally 
teasing  and  frightening  the  old-fashioned  gentry 
by  hberal  sallies,  and  not  making  approaches  to 
the  younger  generation.  And  both  the  former 
and  the  latter  thought  him  a  haughty  man;  and 
both  sets  of  people  respected  him  for  his  distin- 
guished, aristocratic  manners ;  for  the  rumours  of 
his  conquests;  because  he  dressed  very  well  and 
always  occupied  the  best  room  in  the  hotel;  be- 
cause he  dined  well,  as  a  rule,  and  had  once  even 
dined  with  Wellington  at  Louis  Philippe's;  be- 
cause he  always  carried  about  with  him  every- 
where a  real  silver  toilet  set,  and  a  camp  bath-tub ; 
because  he  emitted  an  odour  of  some  unusual, 
wonderfully  "noble"  perfumes;  because  he 
played  whist  in  a  masterly  manner,  and  always 
lost;  and,  in  conclusion,  they  respected  him  also 
because  of  his  impeccable  honesty.  The  ladies 
regarded  him  as  a  fascinating  misanthrope,  but 
he  did  not  consort  with  the  ladies.  .  .  . 

"  So,  now  thou  seest,  Evgeny," — said  Arkady, 
at  the  conclusion  of  his  story, — "  how  unjustly 
thou  judgest  of  my  uncle!  I  will  not  even  men- 
tion the  fact  that  he  has  more  than  once  rescued 

1  As  Marshal  of  the  Nobility. — Tbanslator. 

55 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

my  father  from  a  catastrophe,  has  given  him 
all  his  own  money,— perhaps  thou  art  not 
aware  that  their  estate  has  not  been  divided, 
— but  he  is  glad  to  help  any  one,  and,  among 
other  things,  he  always  stands  up  for  the  peas- 
ants; it  is  true  that  when  he  talks  with  them 
he  wrinkles  up  his  face  and  inhales  eau  de 
cologne.  ..." 

"Of  course:  nerves," — interrupted  BazaroflP. 
"  Perhaps,  only  he  has  a  very  kind  heart.    And 
he  is  far  from  stupid.    What  useful  advice  he  has 
given  me  ....  especially  .  .  .  especially  about 
my  relations  with  women." 

"  Aha !  He  has  burnt  himself  with  his  own 
milk,  so  he  blows  on  other  people's  water.  We 
know  all  about  that!  " 

"Well,  in  a  word," — went  on  Arkady: — "he 
is  profoundly  unhappy,  believe  me;  it  is  a  sin  to 
despise  him." 

"  Well,  who  despises  him? " — retorted  Ba- 
zaroff.— "  But  I  will  say,  nevertheless,  that  a 
man  who  has  staked  his  whole  life  on  a  woman's 
love,  and,  when  that  card  was  trumped,  turned 
sour  and  lost  heart  to  such  an  extent  that  he  be- 
came incapable  of  anything, — such  a  man — is  not 
a  man,  but  a  male.  Thou  sayest  that  he  is  un- 
happy—thou knowest  best ;  but  all  the  whims  have 
not  gone  out  of  him.  I  am  convinced  that  he 
seriously  regards  himself  as  a  practical  man,  be- 
cause he  reads  that  miserable   Galignani  and 

56 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

once  a  month  rescues  a  peasant  from  chastise- 
ment." 

"  But  remember  his  education,  the  period  in 
which  he  lived," — remarked  Arkady. 

"His  education?"  retorted  Bazaroff. — "Ev- 
ery man  is  bound  to  educate  himself, — well, 
as  I  have  done  myself,  for  example.  .  .  .  And 
so  far  as  the  period  is  concerned,  who  am  I  to  de- 
pend upon  that?  Rather,  let  it  depend  upon  me. 
No,  brother,  all  that  is  groundless  and  frivolous ! 
And  what  is  there  mysterious  about  the  relations 
between  a  man  and  a  woman?  We  physiologists 
know  what  those  relations  are.  Just  study  the 
anatomy  of  the  eye :  where  does  what  thou  callest 
an  enigmatic  glance  come  from?  That 's  all  ro- 
manticism, stuff  and  nonsense,  rot,  art.  Come 
on,  we  'd  better  go  and  look  at  my  beetle." 

And  the  two  friends  betook  themselves  to  Ba- 
zaroff's  room,  in  which  a  certain  medico-surgical 
odour,  mingled  with  the  scent  of  cheap  tobacco, 
had  already  contrived  to  establish  itself. 


57 


VIII 

Pavel  Petkovitch  did  not  remain  present  long 
at  the  interview  between  his  brother  and  the  man- 
ager, a  tall,  thin  man,  with  a  sweet,  consumptive 
voice  and  crafty  eyes,  who,  to  all  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch's  remarks,  replied,  "  Certainly  sir;  that 's  a 
fact,  sir,"  and  tried  to  make  out  that  the  peasants 
were  drunkards  and  thieves.  The  farming,  which 
had  recently  been  rearranged  on  a  new  plan,  was 
squeaking  like  an  ungreased  wheel,  and  cracking 
Hke  home-made  furniture  fabricated  from  green 
wood.  Nikolai  Petrovitch  was  not  discouraged, 
but  he  sighed  frequently,  and  became  thoughtful : 
he  was  conscious  that  matters  would  not  go  right 
without  money,  and  almost  all  his  money  was  ex- 
hausted. Arkady  had  spoken  the  truth:  Pavel 
Petrovitch  had  helped  his  brother  more  than  once ; 
more  than  once,  perceiving  that  he  was  strug- 
gling and  racking  his  brains  in  the  effort  to  de- 
vise a  way  of  escape,  Pavel  Petrovitch  had 
strolled  slowly  to  the  window,  and,  thrusting  his 
hands  into  his  pockets,  had  muttered  through  his 
teeth,  "Mais  je  puis  vous  donner  de  V argent/' 
and  had  given  him  money ;  but  on  this  particular 
day  he  had  nothing,  and  he  preferred  to  with- 

58 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

draw.  The  sordid  details  of  farming  made  him 
melancholy;  and,  in  addition,  it  constantly 
seemed  to  him  that  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  notwith- 
standing his  zeal  and  industry,  did  not  take  hold 
of  the  business  in  the  proper  way;  although  he 
would  not  have  been  capable  of  pointing  out  to 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  precisely  where  he  was  in  er- 
ror. "  My  brother  is  not  sufficiently  practical," 
— he  argued  with  himself, — "  people  cheat  him." 
Nikolai  Petrovitch,  on  the  other  hand,  enter- 
tained a  lofty  opinion  as  to  Pavel  Petrovitch's 
practical  qualities,  and  always  asked  his  advice. 
"  I  am  a  soft,  weak  man;  I  have  spent  all  my  life 
in  the  wilds," — he  was  wont  to  say;  "  but  not  for 
nothing  hast  thou  lived  so  much  with  people,  thou 
knowest  them  well :  thou  hast  the  eye  of  an  eagle." 
Pavel  Petrovitch's  only  reply  to  these  words  was 
to  turn  away;  but  he  did  not  seek  to  change  his 
brother's  conviction. 

Leaving  Nikolai  Petrovitch  in  the  study,  he 
walked  along  the  corridor  which  separated  the 
front  part  of  the  house  from  the  rear  part,  and, 
reaching  a  low-browed  door,  he  paused  in 
thought,  tugged  at  his  moustache,  and  knocked. 

"Who's  there?  Come  in," — rang  out  Fe- 
nitchka's  voice. 

"  It  is  I," — said  Pavel  Petrovitch,  and  opened 
the  door. 

Fenitchka  sprang  up  from  the  chair  on  which 
she  was  sitting  with  her  baby,  and  placing  it  in 

59 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

the  arms  of  the  little  girl,  who  immediately  car- 
ried it  out  of  the  room,  hastily  adjusted  her 
kerchief. 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  intrude," — began  Pavel  Pe- 
trovitch,  without  looking  at  her: — "  I  merely 
wished  to  ask  you  ....  I  beHeve  some  one  is 
going  to  the  town  to-day  ....  order  some  green 
tea  to  be  bought  for  me." 

"  Yes,  sir,"— rephed  Fenitchka:— "  how  much 
do  you  order  to  be  purchased?  " 

"  Why,  half  a  pound  will  be  sufficient,  I  sup- 
pose. And  I  notice  that  you  have  made  some 
changes  here," — he  added,  darting  a  swift  glance 
around,  which  glided  over  Fenitchka's  face  also. 
— "  Those  curtains,  yonder," — he  said,  seeing 
that  she  did  not  understand  him. 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  curtains;  Nikolai  Petrovitch  was 
so  good  as  to  give  them  to  me;  but  they  have 
been  hung  this  long  time." 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  not  been  to  see  you  for  a 
long  time.  You  are  very  nicely  estabhshed  here 
now." 

"  Thanks  to  Nikolai  Petrovitch," — whispered 
Fenitchka. 

"  Are  you  more  comfortable  here  than  in  your 
former  wing? " — inquired  Pavel  Petrovitch  po- 
litely, but  without  the  trace  of  a  smile. 

"  Of  course  I  am,  sir." 

"  Who  has  been  put  in  your  place?  " 

"  The  laundress  lives  there  now." 

00 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"Ah!" 

Pavel  Petrovitch  relapsed  into  silence.  "  Now 
he  will  go  away,"  thought  Fenitchka.  But  he  did 
not  go  away,  and  she  stood  before  him,  as  though 
rooted  to  the  spot,  weakly  twisting  her  iSngers. 

"  Why  did  you  have  your  httle  one  carried 
away?  " — said  Pavel  Petrovitch,  at  last. — "  I 
love  children:  show  it  to  me." 

Fenitchka  blushed  scarlet  all  over  with  confu- 
sion and  joy.  She  was  afraid  of  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch :  he  hardly  ever  spoke  to  her. 

*' Dunyasha,"— she  called:— "  bring  Mitya  " 
(Fenitchka  addressed  every  one  in  the  house  as 
"you"). — "But  no,  wait,  I  must  put  a  clean 
dress  on  him." — Fenitchka  went  toward  the  door. 

"  Never  mind  about  that,"— remarked  Pavel 
Petrovitch. 

"  I  will  be  back  in  a  moment,"— replied  Fe- 
nitchka, and  hastily  left  the  room. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  was  left  alone,  and  this  time 
he  looked  about  him  with  particular  attention. 
The  contracted,  low-ceiled  little  room  in  which  he 
found  himself  was  very  clean  and  cosey.  It 
smelled  of  the  recently  painted  floor,  of  camo- 
mile and  balm.  Along  the  walls  stood  chairs  with 
backs  in  the  form  of  lyres ;  they  had  been  bought 
by  the  late  General,  in  Poland,  during  the  cam- 
paign ;  in  one  corner  stood  a  small  bedstead,  with 
muslin  curtains,  alongside  a  wrought-iron  chest 
with  a  rounded  lid.  In  the  opposite  corner  burned 

61 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

a  shrine-lamp  in  front  of  a  large,  dark-coloured 
image  of  St.  Nicholas  the  Wonder-worker ;  a  tiny 
porcelain  egg,  suspended  from  the  halo  by  a  red 
ribbon,  hung  on  the  saint's  breast;  on  the 
window-sills  glass  jars,  with  last  year's  preserves 
carefully  tied  up,  admitted  a  green  light;  on  their 
paper  lids  Fenitchka  herself  had  written  in  large 
letters:  "  gosebery."  Nikolai  Petrovitch  was 
especially  fond  of  that  preserve.  From  the 
ceiling,  on  a  long  cord,  hung  a  cage  containing 
a  bob-tailed  canary-bird ;  it  twittered  and  hopped 
about  incessantly,  and  the  cage  incessantly  rocked 
and  trembled ;  grains  of  hemp-seed  fell  to  the  floor 
with  a  soft  patter.  On  the  wall  between  the  win- 
dows, over  a  small  chest  of  drawers,  hung  several 
fairly  bad  photographs  of  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  in 
various  attitudes,  made  by  itinerant  artists ;  there, 
also,  hung  a  photograph  of  Fenitchka  herself, 
which  was  an  utter  failure:  some  sort  of  an  eye- 
less visage  smiled  constrainedly  out  of  the  dark 
frame, — and  nothing  more  could  be  distin- 
guished ;  and  over  Fenitchka,  Ermoloff ,  in  a  felt 
cloak,  was  frowning  in  a  menacing  manner  at  the 
Caucasus  Mountains  in  the  distance,  from  be- 
neath a  silken  slipper  for  pins,  which  fell  clear 
down  on  his  brow. 

Five  minutes  elapsed.  In  the  adjoining  room 
rustling  and  whispering  were  audible.  Pavel 
Petrovitch  picked  up  from  the  chest  of  drawers  a 
greasy  book,  an  odd  volume  of  Masalsky's  "  The 

62 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Sharp-shooters"  (**  Stryeltzy "),  and  turned 
over  a  few  pages.  .  .  .  The  door  opened,  and 
Fenitchka  entered,  with  Mitya  in  her  arms.  She 
had  dressed  him  in  a  Httle  red  shirt  with  galloon 
on  the  collar,  and  had  brushed  his  hair  and  wiped 
off  his  face:  he  breathed  heavily,  threw  himself 
about  with  his  whole  body,  and  flourished  his  little 
hands,  as  all  healthy  babies  do;  but  the  foppish 
little  shirt  had  taken  effect  on  him:  an  expres- 
sion of  satisfaction  emanated  from  his  whole 
plump  form.  Fenitchka  had  brought  her  own 
hair  into  order  also,  and  had  put  on  her  kerchief 
in  the  best  possible  manner ;  but  she  might  as  well 
have  remained  as  she  was.  And,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  is  there  anything  in  the  world  more  fas- 
cinating than  a  young  and  beautiful  mother  with 
a  healthy  baby  in  her  arms? 

"What  a  chubby  child,"— said  Pavel  Pe- 
trovitch  condescendingly,  and  tickled  Mitya's 
double  chin  with  the  tip  of  the  long  nail  on  his 
forefinger ;  the  child  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  canary- 
bird,  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  This  is  uncle,"— said  Fenitchka,  bending  her 
face  over  him,  and  rocking  him  softly,  while 
Dunyasha  quietly  set  a  lighted  pastille  on  the 
window-sill,  placing  a  copper  coin  beneath  it. 

"  How  many  months  old  is  he?  "—inquired 
Pavel  Petrovitch. 

"  Six  months;  the  seventh  month  will  begin 
soon,  on  the  eleventh." 

68 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Won't  it  be  the  eighth,  Feodosya  Niko- 
laevna?  "—interposed  Dunyasha,  not  without 
timidity. 

"  No,  the  seventh;  how  is  that  possible!  "—The 
child  crowed  again,  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  chest, 
and  suddenly  grasped  his  mother's  nose  and  Hps 
with  all  five  fingers.—"  The  spoiled  child,"— said 
Fenitchka,  without  removing  her  face  from  his 
fingers. 

"  He  resembles  my  brother," — remarked  Pavel 
Petrovitch. 

"  Whom  should  he  resemble,  then? "  thought 
Fenitchka. 

"  Yes," — pursued  Pavel  Petrovitch,  as  though 
talking  to  himself, — "  there  is  an  indubitable  like- 
ness."— He  gazed  at  Fenitchka  attentively,  al- 
most sadly. 

"  This  is  uncle,"— repeated  she,  in  a  whisper 
this  time. 

"Ah!  Pavel!  so  thou  art  here!" — rang  out 
Nikolai  Petrovitch's  voice  suddenly. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  hastily  wheeled  round,  and 
knit  his  brows;  but  his  brother  gazed  at  him  so 
joyfully,  so  gratefully,  that  he  could  not  do 
otherwise  than  respond  to  him  by  a  smile. 

"  Thou  hast  a  splendid  boy,"— he  said,  and 
looked  at  his  watch;—"  I  dropped  in  here  about 
my  tea " 

And,  assuming  an  indifferent  expression, 
Pavel  Petrovitch  immediately  left  the  room. 

64 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Did  he  come  of  his  own  accord?  " — Nikolai 
Petrovitch  asked  Fenitchka. 

"  Yes,  sir;  he  knocked  and  entered." 

"  Well,  and  has  n't  Arkasha  been  to  see  thee 
again  f 

*'  No.  Would  n't  it  be  better  for  me  to  remove 
to  the  wing,  Nikolai  Petrovitch?  " 

"Why  so?" 

"  I  am  wondering  whether  it  would  not  be  bet- 
ter, at  first." 

"  N  .  .  .  .  no," — articulated  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
with  hesitation,  and  rubbed  his  forehead. — "  It 
ought  to  have  been  done  before.  .  .  Good  morn- 
ing, thou  fat  little  ball," — he  said,  with  sudden 
animation,  and  approaching  the  baby,  he  kissed 
him  on  the  cheek;  then  he  bent  down  a  Httle, 
and  pressed  his  lips  on  Fenitchka's  hand,  which 
shone  white  as  milk  against  Mitya's  little  red 
shirt. 

"Nikolai  Petrovitch!  what  are  you  doing?" 
— she  stammered,  and  dropped  her  eyes,  then 
quietly  raised  them  again.  .  .  .  The  expression 
of  her  eyes  was  charming  when  she  gazed,  as  it 
were,  from  beneath  her  brows,  with  an  affection- 
ate and  somewhat  stupid  smile. 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  had  become  acquainted 
with  Fenitchka  in  the  following  manner.  One 
day,  three  years  before  this  time,  he  had  been 
obliged  to  pass  the  night  at  a  posting-station  in  a 
distant  provincial  town.    He  had  been  pleasantly 

65 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

surprised  at  the  cleanliness  of  the  room  which  was 
assigned  to  him,  and  the  freshness  of  the  bed- 
linen:  "  Is  not  the  landlady  a  German?  "  flashed 
through  his  mind ;  but  it  appeared  that  the  house- 
wife was  a  Russian,  a  woman  of  fifty,  neatly 
dressed,' with  comely,  sensible  face  and  dignified 
speech.  He  chatted  with  her  over  his  tea;  she 
pleased  him  greatly.  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  at  that 
time,  had  just  moved  into  his  new  manor-house, 
and,  not  wishing  to  keep  serfs  about  him,  was  on 
the  lookout  for  hired  servants;  the  landlady,  on 
her  side,  complained  of  the  small  number  of  trav- 
ellers in  the  town,  of  hard  times;  he  proposed  to 
her  that  she  should  enter  his  house  in  the  capacity 
of  housekeeper ;  she  accepted.  Her  husband  had 
been  long  dead,  and  had  left  her  with  only  a 
daughter,  Fenitchka.  Two  weeks  later,  Arina 
Savishna  (such  was  the  name  of  the  new  house- 
keeper) arrived  in  company  with  her  daughter 
at  Marino,  and  established  herself  in  the  wing. 
Nikolai  Petrovitch's  choice  turned  out  to  be  a 
happy  one.  Arina  introduced  order  into  the 
house.  Of  Fenitchka,  who  was  already  seven- 
teen years  old,  no  one  spoke,  and  it  was  rarely 
that  any  one  saw  her :  she  lived  quietly,  modestly, 
and  only  on  Sundays  did  Nikolai  Petrovitch  per- 
ceive in  the  parish  church,  somewhere  on  one  side, 
the  dehcate  profile  of  her  rather  pale  face.  More 
than  a  year  passed  in  this  manner. 

One  morning,  Arina  presented  herself  in  his 

66 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

study,  and  after  making  him  a  low  reverence,  ac- 
cording to  her  wont,  she  asked  him  whether  he 
could  not  help  her  daughter,  who  had  got  a  spark 
from  the  stove  in  her  eye.  Nikolai  Petrovitch, 
hke  all  stay-at-homes,  occupied  himself  with  med- 
ical treatment,  and  had  even  bought  a  homoeo- 
pathic medicine-chest.  He  immediately  ordered 
Arina  to  bring  the  sufferer.  On  learning  that 
the  master  wanted  her,  Fenitchka  was  seized  with 
a  violent  fit  of  timidity,  but  she  followed  her 
mother.  Nikolai  Petrovitch  led  her  to  the  win- 
dow, and  grasped  her  head  with  both  hands.  Af- 
ter taking  a  good  look  at  her  reddened  and 
swollen  eye,  he  prescribed  an  eye-wash,  which  he 
himself  compounded  on  the  spot,  and,  tearing 
up  his  handkerchief,  he  showed  her  how  she  must 
bathe  it ;  Fenitchka  heard  him  out,  and  started  to 
leave  the  room.  "  Come,  kiss  the  master's  hand, 
thou  stupid  creature,"  said  Arina  to  her.  Nikolai 
Petrovitch  did  not  give  her  his  hand,  but,  becom- 
ing confused,  he  kissed  her  on  her  bowed  head, 
where  the  hair  parted. 

Fenitchka's  eye  soon  got  well,  but  the  impres- 
sion which  she  had  made  upon  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
did  not  soon  pass  away.  Visions  of  that  pure, 
tender,  timidly  uplifted  face  pursued  him :  he  felt 
beneath  his  pahns  that  soft  hair;  he  beheld  those 
innocent,  shghtly  parted  lips,  from  between 
which  the  pearly  teeth  gleamed  moistly  in  the 
sunlight.     He  began,  with  great  attention,  to 

67 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

watch  her  in  church;  he  tried  to  enter  into  con- 
versation with  her.  At  first  she  was  shy  of  him, 
and  one  day,  toward  evening,  when  she  encoun- 
tered him  on  a  narrow  path  made  by  pedestrians 
through  a  rye-field,  she  retreated  into  the  tall, 
thick  rye,  overrun  with  wormwood  and  corn- 
flowers, simply  for  the  sake  of  escaping  his  eyes. 
He  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  little  head  athwart 
the  golden  network  of  the  grain-ears,  whence  she 
was  peeping  like  a  small  wild  animal,  and  called 
out  to  her  pleasantly: 

"  Good  day,  Fenitchka!    I  don't  bite!  " 

"  Good  day,"— she  whispered,  without  quit- 
ting her  ambush. 

Little  by  httle  she  began  to  grow  accustomed 
to  him;  but  she  was  still  timid  in  his  presence 
when,  suddenly,  her  mother  Arina  died  of  the 
cholera.  Where  was  Fenitchka  to  go?  She  had 
inherited  from  her  mother  a  love  of  orderliness, 
good  judgment,  and  dignity;  but  she  was  so 
young,  so  isolated;  Nikolai  Petrovitch  was  so  kind 
and  discreet.  .  .  .  There  is  no  need  to  narrate 
the  rest 

"  So  my  brother  just  walked  into  thy  room? " 
—Nikolai  Petrovitch  asked  her.—"  He  knocked 
and  walked  in? " 

"  Yes,  sir," 

"  Well,  that 's  good.    Let  me  toss  Mitya." 

And  Nikolai  Petrovitch  began  to  toss  him  up 
almost  to  the  very  ceiling,  to  the  great  delight 

68 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

of  the  boy,  and  to  the  no  small  anxiety  of  the 
mother,  who,  at  every  upward  flight,  stretched 
out  her  hands  toward  his  bare  legs. 

But  Pavel  Petrovitch  returned  to  his  elegant 
study,  hung  with  handsome  paper  of  a  grey  tone, 
with  weapons  suspended  on  a  motley -hued  Per- 
sian rug,  with  walnut-wood  furniture  upholstered 
in  dark-green  mock  velvet,  a  book-case  in  Ren- 
aissance style  of  antique  dark  oak,  bronze  stat- 
uettes on  the  magnificent  writing-table,  and  a 
fireplace.  .  .  .  He  flung  himself  on  the  couch, 
placed  his  hands  under  his  head,  and  re- 
mained motionless,  staring  at  the  ceiling  al- 
most with  despair.  Whether  it  was  that  he  wished 
to  conceal  from  the  very  walls  what  was  taking 
place  on  his  face,  or  from  some  other  cause,  at 
all  events,  he  rose,  dropped  the  heavy  window- 
curtains,  and  again  flung  himself  on  the  couch. 


69 


IX 

On  that  same  day,  Bazaroff  also  made  acquain- 
tance with  Fenitchka.  He  was  walking  about 
the  garden  with  Arkady,  and  explaining  to  him 
why  certain  young  trees,  especially  the  oaks,  had 
not  taken  root. 

**  You  ought  to  set  out  as  many  silver  poplars 
as  possible  here,  and  firs,  and  lindens,  if  you  hke, 
after  adding  black  loam.  That  arbour,  yonder, 
has  thriven  well," — he  added: — "  because  acacias 
and  hlacs  are  good  fellows— they  require  no  nurs- 
ing.   Ba!  why,  there  is  some  one  there." 

Fenitchka  was  sitting  in  the  arbour  with  Dun- 
yasha  and  Mitya.  Bazaroff  came  to  a  halt,  and 
Arkady  nodded  to  Fenitchka  as  to  an  old  ac- 
quaintance. 

"  Who  is  that?  " — Bazaroff  asked  him,  as  soon 
as  they  had  passed  on.—"  What  a  pretty 
woman  I" 

"  Of  whom  art  thou  speaking?  " 

"  It 's  plain  enough;  there  was  only  one  pretty 
woman." 

Arkady,  not  without  embarrassment,  ex- 
plained to  him,  in  brief  words,  who  Fenitchka 
was. 

"Ahal"— said  Bazdroff:— "  thy  father,  evi- 

70 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

dently,  knows  a  good  thing  when  he  sees  it.  And 
I  like  thy  father,  I  swear  I  do !  He  's  a  fine  fel- 
low. But  I  must  scrape  acquaintance," — he 
added,  and  went  back  to  the  arbour. 

"  Evgeny!  "—Arkady  shouted  after  him,  in 
alarm: — "  be  more  cautious,  for  God's  sake." 

"  Don't  get  excited,"— said  Bazaroff:— "  I  'm 
a  person  of  experience,  I  've  Hved  in  cities." 

Approaching  Fenitchka,  he  pulled  off  his  cap. 

"  Permit  me  to  introduce  myself," — he  began, 
with  a  polite  bow: — "  I  'm  the  friend  of  Arkady 
Nikolaevitch,  and  a  man  of  peace." 

Fenitchka  half -rose  from  the  bench,  and  gazed 
at  him  in  silence. 

"What  a  magnificent  babyl" — went  on  Ba- 
zaroff.— "  Don't  be  alarmed,  I  have  never  cast 
the  evil  eye  on  any  one  yet.  What  makes  his 
cheeks  so  red?    Is  he  cutting  his  teeth?  " 

"Yes,  sir," — said  Fenitchka: — "he  has  cut 
four  teeth  already,  and  now  his  gums  have 
swollen  up  again." 

"  Show  me  ....  come,  don't  be  afraid,  I  'm  a 
doctor." 

Bazaroff  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  and,  to  the 
astonishment  of  Fenitchka  and  Dunyasha,  it  dis- 
played no  resistance,  and  was  not  frightened. 

"  I  see,  I  see.  ...  It 's  nothing;  everything  is 
all  right :  he  's  going  to  have  large  teeth.  If  any- 
thing happens,  let  me  know.  And  are  you  well 
yourself? " 

71 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Yes,  thank  God." 

"  Thank  God— that  is  the  best  of  all.  And 
you?  "—added  Bazaroif,  turning  to  Dunyasha. 

Dunyasha,  a  girl  who  was  very  prim  in  the 
rooms  of  her  mistress,  and  a  great  giggler  else- 
where, only  snorted  by  way  of  reply. 

"  Well,  that 's  fine.  Here  's  your  hero  for 
you." 

Fenitchka  took  her  baby  in  her  arms. 

"  How  quietly  he  sat  with  you!  "—she  said,  in 
a  low  tone. 

"  All  children  behave  quietly  with  me,"— re- 
plied BazarofF,— "  I  know  the  trick." 

"  Children  feel  who  loves  them,"— remarked 
Dunyasha. 

"  That  is  true,"— assented  Fenitchka.  "  Here 
is  Mitya, — he  will  not  let  some  people  take  him 
in  their  arms  on  any  terms." 

"  And  will  he  come  to  me?  " — asked  Arkady, 
who,  after  standing  for  a  time  a  Uttle  aloof,  had 
now  approached  the  arbour. 

He  allured  Mitya  to  him ;  but  Mitya  flung  his 
head  back  and  began  to  scream,  which  greatly 
mortified  Fenitchka. 

"  Another  time— when  he  has  managed  to  get 
used  to  me," — said  Arkady  condescendingly,  and 
the  two  friends  went  their  way. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  her  name?  "-inquired 
Bazaroif. 

"  Fenitchka ....  Feodosy a,"— replied  Arkady. 

72 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  And  her  patronymic?  I  must  know  that 
also." 

"  Nikolaevna." 

"  Bene.  What  I  Uke  about  her  is  that  she  does 
not  get  too  much  embarrassed.  Any  one  else 
would,  probably,  condemn  that  in  her.  What 
nonsense!  what  is  there  to  be  embarrassed 
about?  She  is  a  mother — well,  and  she  is  in  the 
right." 

"  She  is  in  the  right,"— remarked  Arkady, — 
'  but  there  is  my  father " 

"  He  is  right  too,"— interrupted  Bazaroff. 

"  Well,  no,  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Evidently,  an  extra  heir  is  not  to  our  taste!  " 

"  Art  not  thou  ashamed  to  presuppose  such 
thoughts  in  mel  " — put  in  Arkady,  with  heat. — 
"  It  is  not  from  that  point  of  view  that  I  regard 
my  father  as  in  the  wrong.  I  think  he  ought  to 
marry  her." 

"Ehe-he!"— said  Bazaroff  calmly.— "  How 
magnanimous  we  are !  Thou  still  attributest  sig- 
nificance to  marriage;  I  had  not  expected  that 
from  thee." 

The  friends  advanced  several  paces  in  silence. 

"  I  have  seen  all  thy  father's  outfit," — be- 
gan Bazaroff  again. — "  The  cattle  are  poor, 
and  the  horses  are  broken-down.  The  buildings, 
also,  are  pretty  bad;  the  workmen  are  arrant 
idlers ;  and  the  overseer  is  either  a  fool  or  a  rascal ; 
I  have  not  yet  thoroughly  made  out  which." 

73 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Thou  art  severe  to-day,  Evgeny  Vasilie- 
vitch." 

**  And  the  good-natured  peasants  cheat  thy 
father,  without  the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  Thou 
knowest  the  adage :  '  The  Russian  peasant  will 
fool  even  God  himself.'  " 

"  I  am  beginning  to  agree  with  my  uncle,"— 
remarked  Arkady,—"  thou  certainly  hast  a  bad 
opinion  of  the  Russians." 

"That's  no  great  matter  1  The  only  good 
point  about  the  Russian  man  is,  that  he  has  a  very 
bad  opinion  of  himself.  The  important  thing 
is  that  twice  two  makes  four,  and  that  the  rest 
is  all  nonsense." 

"  And  is  nature  nonsense?  "—said  Arkady, 
gazing  thoughtfully  far  away,  across  the  mottled 
fields,  beautifully  and  softly  illuminated  by  the 
sun,  which  was  already  near  to  setting. 

"  And  nature,  also,  is  nonsense,  in  the  sense  in 
which  thou  understandest  it.  Nature  is  not  a 
temple,  but  a  workshop,  and  man  is  a  workman 
therein." 

The  slow  sounds  of  a  violoncello  floated  to  them 
from  the  house  at  that  moment. 

Some  one  was  playing  with  feeling,  although 
with  an  inexperienced  hand,  Schubert's  "  Ex- 
pectation," and  the  sweet  melody  poured  forth 
on  the  air  like  honey. 

"  Who  's  that?  "  —  ejaculated  BazaroiF  in 
amazement. 

74 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  That  is  my  father." 

"  Does  thy  father  play  on  the  violoncello?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why,  how  old  is  thy  father?  " 

"  Forty-four." 

Bazaroff  suddenly  burst  into  loud  laughter. 

"  What  art  thou  laughing  at?  " 

"  Upon  my  word!  at  the  age  of  forty-four,  a 
man,  paterfamilias,  in  the  *  *  *  district,  plays  on 
the  violoncello! " 

BazarofF  continued  to  laugh;  but  Arkady,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  he  worshipped  his  teacher, 
did  not  even  smile  on  this  occasion. 


75 


About  a  fortnight  passed.  Life  in  Marino 
flowed  on  in  its  usual  current:  Arkady  led  the 
life  of  a  Sybarite,  Bazaroif  worked.  Every  one 
in  the  house  had  got  accustomed  to  him,  to  his 
careless  manners,  to  his  uncomplicated  and  ab- 
rupt speeches.  Fenitchka,  in  particular,  had  be- 
come so  famihar  with  him  that  once  she  ordered 
him  to  be  awakened  at  night:  Mitya  had  been 
seized  with  convulsions;  and  he  came,  as  was  his 
wont,  half -jesting,  half -yawning,  sat  with  her  a 
couple  of  hours,  and  relieved  the  baby.  On  the 
other  hand,  Pavel  Petrovitch  hated  Bazaroif 
with  all  the  powers  of  his  soul :  he  considered  him 
proud,  arrogant,  a  cynic,  a  plebeian;  he  had  a 
suspicion  that  Bazaroif  did  not  respect  him,  that 
he  almost  despised  him — him,  Pavel  KirsanoiF! 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  was  afraid  of  the  young 
"  nihilist,"  and  had  doubts  as  to  the  advantage 
of  his  iniluence  on  Arkady ;  but  he  liked  to  listen 
to  him,  he  liked  to  be  present  at  his  physical  and 
chemical  experiments  .  .  Bazaroff  had  brought 
a  microscope  with  him,  and  busied  himself  with 
it  for  hours  together.  The  servants,  also,  became 
attached  to  him,  although  he  jeered  at  them:  they 

76 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

felt  that,  nevertheless,  he  was  their  brother,  not 
a  lordly  master.  Dunyasha  was  fond  of  giggling 
with  him,  and  cast  oblique,  significant  glances  at 
him  as  she  flitted  past  like  "  a  snipe  " ;  Piotr,  a 
man  in  the  highest  degree  conceited  and  stupid, 
with  strained  furrows  forever  on  his  brow,  a  man 
whose  sole  merit  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  had  a 
polite  aspect,  read  by  spelHng  out  the  words,  and 
frequently  cleaned  his  coat  with  a  brush— he,  also, 
smiled  and  beamed  as  soon  as  Bazaroff  directed 
his  attention  to  him ;  the  house-servants'  brats  ran 
after  the  "  doctur  "  like  puppies.  Old  Prokofitch 
was  the  only  one  who  did  not  like  him,  served  him 
his  food  at  table  with  a  grim  aspect,  called  him 
a  "  knacker "  and  a  *'  swindler,"  and  asserted 
that  he,  with  his  side-whiskers,  was  a  regular  pig 
in  a  bush.  Prokofitch  was,  in  his  way,  as  much  of 
an  aristocrat  as  Pavel  Petrovitch. 

The  best  days  in  the  year  arrived— the  early 
days  of  June.  The  weather  was  fine;  it  is  true 
that  the  cholera  was  threatening  again  at  a  dis- 
tance, but  the  inhabitants  of  the  *  *  *  Govern- 
ment had  already  got  used  to  its  visitations.  Ba- 
zaroff rose  very  early,  and  went  off  two  or  three 
versts,  not  for  a  walk — he  could  not  endure  to 
walk  without  an  object— but  to  collect  herbs  and 
insects.  Sometimes  he  took  Arkady  with  him. 
On  the  way  home,  they  generally  got  into  a  dis- 
pute, and  Arkady  was  generally  worsted,  al- 
though he  talked  more  than  his  comrade. 

77 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

One  day  they  were  very  late,  for  some  reason; 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  went  out  into  the  garden  to 
meet  them,  and  when  he  got  on  a  level  with  the 
arbour  he  suddenly  heard  the  swift  footsteps  and 
the  voices  of  the  two  young  men.  They  were 
walking  on  the  other  side  of  the  arbour,  and  could 
not  see  him. 

"  Thou  art  not  sufficiently  well  acquainted  with 
my  father," — Arkady  was  saying. 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  concealed  himself. 

"  Thy  father  is  a  nice  fellow,"— said  Bazaroff, 
— "  but  he  's  a  man  who  is  behind  the  times,*  his 
song  is  sung." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  lent  an  ear.  .  .  .  Arkady 
made  no  reply. 

The  man  who  was  "  behind  the  times  "  stood 
motionless  for  a  couple  of  minutes,  and  slowly 
wended  his  way  homeward. 

"  Day  before  yesterday  I  saw  him  reading 
Pushkin,"— went  on  Bazaroff.  ..."  Please  ex- 
plain to  him  that  he  ought  not  to  do  that.  He 
is  n't  a  boy,  thou  knowest :  it 's  time  for  him  to 
fling  aside  all  that  twaddle.  The  idea  of  being  a 
romanticist  at  the  present  day  I  Give  him  some- 
thing practical  to  read." 

"  What  ought  I  to  give  him?  "—asked 
Arkady. 

"  Why,  Bruchner's  *  Stoff  und  Kraft,'  I  think, 
as  a  starter." 

l  The  equivalent  of  "a  back  number." — Thahslator. 

78 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  think  so  myself,"— remarked  Arkady  ap- 
provingly.— "  'Stoff  und  Kraft '  is  written  in 
popular  language " 

"  See  now,  how  thou  and  I,"— said  Nikolai 
Petrovitch,  after  dinner  on  that  same  day,  to  his 
brother,  as  he  sat  in  his  study: — "  have  fallen  into 
the  ranks  of  the  men  behind  the  times,  our  song 
is  sung.  Well,  what  of  that?  Perhaps  Bazaroff 
is  right;  but  I  am  hurt,  I  must  confess:  I  had 
hoped,  precisely  at  this  time,  to  get  into  close  and 
friendly  relations  with  Arkady,  but  it  turns  out 
that  I  have  lagged  behind,  he  has  gone  ahead, 
and  we  cannot  understand  each  other." 

"  But  has  he  gone  ahead?  And  in  what  way 
is  he  so  greatly  different  from  us?"  exclaimed 
Pavel  Petrovitch  impatiently. — "  It 's  that  signor 
who  has  put  all  that  into  his  head.  I  hate  that 
miserable  medical  student;  in  my  opinion,  he  is 
simply  a  charlatan;  I  am  convinced  that  he  has 
not  got  very  far  in  physics,  even  with  all  his 
frogs." 

"No,  brother,  do  not  say  that:  Bazaroff  is 
clever  and  learned." 

"And  what  repulsive  conceit!" — interrupted 
Pavel  Petrovitch  again. 

"  Yes,"— remarked  Nikolai  Petrovitch:— "  he 
is  conceited.  But,  evidently,  that  cannot  be  dis- 
pensed with;  only,  this  is  what  I  cannot  under- 
stand. Apparently,  I  am  doing  everything,  in 
order  not  to  be  left  behind  the  age :  I  have  estab- 

79 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

lished  my  peasants,  I  have  set  up  a  farm,  so  that 
I  am  even  spoken  of  throughout  the  Govern- 
ment as  a  *  red.'  I  read,  I  study,— in  general, 
I  strive  to  keep  up  with  contemporary  require- 
ments,— but  they  say  that  my  song  is  sung.  And 
I  am  beginning,  brother,  to  think  myself  that  it 
is  sung." 

"Why  so?" 

"  This  is  why.  To-day  I  was  sitting  and  read- 
ing Pushkin.  ...  I  remember  that  I  had  hap- 
pened upon  '  The  Gipsies.' . .  All  at  once,  Arkady 
came  up  to  me,  and  in  silence,  with  such  affec- 
tionate compassion  on  his  face,  took  the  book 
away  from  me  softly,  as  from  a  child,  and  laid 
before  me  another,  a  German  book  .  .  .  smiled, 
and  went  away,  carrying  Pushkin  with  him." 

"  You  don't  say  so!  And  what  book  did  he 
give  thee? " 

"  This  one." 

And  Nikolai  Petrovitch  drew  from  the  rear 
pocket  of  his  coat  Bruchner's  very  renowned 
pamphlet,  in  the  ninth  edition. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  turned  it  over  in  his  hands. — 
"  H'm!  "—he  muttered.—"  Arkady  Nikolaevitch 
is  attending  to  thy  education.  Well,  and  hast 
thou  tried  to  read  it? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  and  what  was  the  result?  " 

"  Either  I  am  stupid,  or  all  this  is— nonsense. 
—  It  must  be  that  I  am  stupid." 

80 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  But  thou  hast  not  forgotten  thy  German?  " — 
asked  Pavel  Petrovitch. 

"  I  understand  German." 

Again  Pavel  Petrovitch  turned  the  book  over 
in  his  hands,  and  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  his 
brother.     Both  maintained  silence. 

"  Yes,  by  the  way,"— began  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch, being,  evidently,  desirous  of  changing  the 
conversation, — "  I  have  received  a  letter  from 
Kolyazin." 

"  From  Matvyei  Ihtch?  " 

"  Yes.  He  has  come  to  *  *  *  to  inspect  the 
Government.  He  has  become  a  big-wig  now,  and 
writes  to  me  that,  as  a  relation,  he  wishes  to  see  us, 
and  he  invites  thee  and  me  and  Arkady  to  the 
town." 

"  Wilt  thou  go?  "—asked  Pavel  Petrovitch. 

"No;-and  thou?" 

"  And  I  shall  not  go,  either.  What  do  I  want 
to  drag  myself  fifty  versts  for,  to  eat  potato-flour 
pudding.  Mathieu  wants  to  exhibit  himself  to 
us  in  all  his  glory.  Devil  take  him !  the  guberna- 
torial incense  will  be  enough  for  him ;  he  '11  get 
along  without  us.  And  a  Privy  Councillor  is  not 
such  a  great  dignitary,  after  all!  If  I  had  re- 
mained in  the  service,  if  I  had  gone  on  tugging 
away  at  that  stupid  hauling-coUar,  I  should  have 
been  an  adjutant-general  by  this  time.  And  thou 
and  I  are  people  who  are  behind  the  times,  to 
boot." 

81 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Yes,  brother,  evidently  it  is  time  for  us  to 
order  our  coffins,  and  cross  our  hands  upon  our 
breasts  for  the  grave,"— remarked  Nikolai  Pe- 
trovitch,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Well,  I  shall  not  give  in  so  promptly," — 
muttered  his  brother.—"  We  shall  have  a  fight  yet 
with  that  medical  man,  I  foresee  that." 

The  fight  took  place  that  very  day,  at  evening 
tea.  Pavel  Petrovitch  entered  the  drawing-room 
all  ready  for  the  fray,  irritated  and  with  his  mind 
made  up.  He  was  merely  awaiting  a  pretext  in 
order  to  hurl  himself  upon  the  enemy,  but  for  a 
long  time,  no  pretext  presented  itself.  Bazarofi", 
in  general,  had  little  to  say  in  the  presence 
of  "  the  old  Kirsanoffs "  (that  was  what  he 
called  the  two  brothers),  but  on  that  evening 
he  felt  out  of  sorts,  and  gulped  down  cup 
after  cup  in  silence.  Pavel  Petrovitch  was  all 
afire  with  impatience;  at  last  his  desire  was 
realised. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  one  of  the  neigh- 
bouring landed  proprietors. — "  Rubbish,  a  trashy, 
would-be  little  aristocrat,"  indifferently  re- 
marked Bazaroff,  who  had  met  him  in  Peters- 
burg. 

"  Permit  me  to  ask  you," — began  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch, and  his  lips  quivered: — "According  to 
your  ideas,  do  the  words  '  rubbish '  and  *  aristo- 
crat *  signify  one  and  the  same  thing? " 

"  I  said  '  trashy,  would-be  little  aristocrat,'  "— 

82 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

said  Bazaroff,  lazily  swallowing  a  mouthful  of 
tea. 

"  Exactly  so,  sir;  but  I  assume  that  you  hold 
the  same  opinion  concerning  the  aristocrats  that 
you  do  concerning  the  trashy,  would-be  little  aris- 
tocrats. I  consider  it  my  duty  to  inform  you  that 
I  do  not  share  that  view.  I  take  the  liberty  of  say- 
ing that  every  one  knows  me  to  be  a  liberal  man 
and  one  who  loves  progress ;  but,  precisely  for  that 
reason,  I  respect  the  aristocrats — the  genuine 
ones.  Remember,  my  dear  sir  "  (at  these  words, 
Bazaroff  raised  his  eyes  to  Pavel  Petrovitch)  — 
"  remember,  my  dear  sir,"  he  repeated,  with  ex- 
asperation:— "  the  Enghsh  aristocrats.  They  do 
not  abate  one  iota  of  their  rights,  and  therefore 
they  respect  the  rights  of  others;  they  demand 
the  fulfilment  of  obligations  toward  themselves, 
and  therefore  they  themselves  fulfil  their  duties. 
The  aristocracy  has  given  freedom  to  England, 
and  it  maintains  it." 

"  We've  heard  that  tune  a  great  many  times," 
—retorted  BazaroiF:— "  but  what  are  you  under- 
taking to  prove  by  this?  " 

"  By  this  I  am  undertaking  to  prove,  my  dear 
sir  "  (when  Pavel  Petrovitch  was  angry,  he  inten- 
tionally said  "  eftim  "  and  "  efto,"  ^  although  he 
knew  perfectly  well  that  the  grammar  does  not 
admit  such  words.    In  this  freak,  the  relics  of  a 

^  Instead  of  :  eto  (this)  and  itim  (by  this)— »'.«.,  employing  the  forms 
in  use  among  the  peasants.— Teakslatob. 

83 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

tradition  of  the  epoch  of  Alexander  manifested 
itself.  The  big-wigs  of  that  time,  on  rare  occa- 
sions, when  talking  in  their  native  tongue,  were 
in  the  habit  of  using,  some  efto,  others  eoohto:  as 
much  as  to  say :  "  We  are  thorough-going  Rus- 
sians, and,  at  the  same  time,  we  are  grandees  who 
are  permitted  to  scorn  rules  of  school")  — "by  this 
[eftim]  I  mean  to  prove  that,  without  a  sense  of 
one's  own  dignity, without  respect  for  one's  self,— 
and  in  the  aristocrat  these  sentiments  are  devel- 
oped,— there  is  no  stable  foundation  for  the  pub- 
lic ..  .  hien  public  .  .  .  the  social  structure.  The 
individuality,  my  dear  sir,— that  is  the  principal 
thing:  the  human  individuality  must  be  strong 
as  a  rock,  for  on  it  everything  is  erected.  I  know 
very  well,  for  example,  that  you  see  fit  to  regard 
as  ridiculous  my  habits,  my  toilet,  my  cleanli- 
ness, to  sum  it  up;  but  aU  that  proceeds  from  a 
sense  of  self-respect,  from  a  sense  of  duty,— yes, 
sir,  yes,  sir,  of  duty.  I  live  in  the  country,  in  the 
wilds,  but  I  do  not  neglect  myself,  I  respect  the 
man  in  myself." 

"  Pardon  me,  Pavel  Petrovitch,"— said  Ba- 
zaroff : — "  here  you  are,  respecting  yourself,  and 
sitting  with  folded  hands:  where  is  the  good  of 
that  for  the  hien  public?  You  would  do  the  same 
thing,  even  if  you  did  not  respect  yourself." 

Pavel  Petrovitch  turned  pallid.—"  That  is  an 
entirely  different  question.  I  am  not  in  the  least 
bound  to  explain  to  you,  now,  why  I  sit  with 

84 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

folded  hands,  as  you  are  pleased  to  express  your- 
self. I  merely  wish  to  say  that  aristocracy  is  a 
principle,  and  only  immoral  or  frivolous  people 
can  live  in  our  day  without  principles.  I  said 
that  to  Arkady  the  day  after  his  arrival,  and  I 
now  repeat  it  to  you.    Is  not  that  so,  Nikolai?  " 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  nodded  his  head. 

"  Aristocracy,  liberalism,  progress,  principles," 
— BazarofF  was  saying  in  the  meantime: — "when 
you  come  to  think  of  it,  how  many  foreign  .... 
and  useless  words!  The  Russian  man  does  not 
need  them,  even  as  a  gift." 

"  What  does  he  need,  according  to  you?  To 
hear  you,  one  would  suppose  that  we  were  outside 
the  pale  of  humanity,  outside  its  laws.  Good 
heavens!  the  logic  of  history  demands 

"  But  what  do  you  want  with  that  logic?  We 
can  get  along  without  it." 

"  How  so?  " 

"  Why,  in  this  way :  you  need  no  logic,  I  hope, 
in  order  to  put  a  piece  of  bread  into  your  mouth 
when  you  are  hungry.  What  use  have  we  for 
these  abstractions? " 

Pavel  Petrovitch  waved  his  hands  in  despair. — 
"  I  do  not  understand  you,  after  that.  You  are 
insulting  the  Russian  nation.  I  do  not  under- 
stand how  it  is  possible  not  to  recognise  princi- 
ples and  rules  ?    By  force  of  what  do  you  act?  " 

"  I  have  already  told  you,  dear  uncle,  that  we 
recognise  no  authorities,"— put  in  Arkady. 

85 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  We  act  by  force  of  that  which  we  recognise 
as  useful,"— said  Bazaroff.— *'  At  the  present 
time,  the  most  useful  thing  of  all  is  rejection— 
we  reject." 

"  Everything?  " 

"  Everything." 

"  What?  Not  only  art,  poetry  .  .  .  but  also 
...  it  is  terrible  to  utter  it  .  .  .  ." 

"  Everything,"— repeated  Bazaroff,  with  in- 
expressible composure. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  stared  at  him.  He  had  not 
expected  this,  and  Arkady  fairly  flushed  crim- 
son with  delight. 

"  But  pardon  me,"— began  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch. "You  reject  everything,  or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  you  demolish  everything.  .  .  .  But 
surely,  it  is  necessary  to  build  up  also." 

"  That 's  no  affair  of  ours.  .  .  The  place  must 
first  be  cleared." 

"  The  contemporary  condition  of  the  populace 
demands  this,"— added  Arkady,  with  impor- 
tance:— "  we  must  comply  with  that  demand;  we 
have  no  right  to  devote  ourselves  to  the  gratifica- 
tion of  our  personal  egoism." 

The  last  phrase,  evidently,  did  not  please 
Bazaroff;  it  smacked  of  philosophy, — that  is  to 
say,  of  romanticism, — for  Bazaroff  called  phil- 
osophy also  romanticism,  but  he  did  not  consider 
it  necessary  to  contradict  his  young  disciple. 

"  No,   nol  "  —  exclaimed    Pavel    Petrovitch, 

86 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

with  a  sudden  impetuosity:  —  "  I  will  not  be- 
lieve that  you,  gentlemen,  are  accurately  ac- 
quainted with  the  Russian  people;  that  you  are 
representatives  of  its  requirements,  its  aspira- 
tions! No,  the  Russian  people  is  not  what  you 
imagine  it  to  be.  It  sacredly  respects  tradition, 
it  is  patriarchal,  it  cannot  live  without  faith.  .  ." 

"I  will  not  dispute  that!  "—interrupted  Ba- 
zaroff ; — "I  am  even  prepared  to  agree  that,  in 
that  respect  J  you  are  right.  .  ." 

"  But  if  I  am  right  .  .  ." 

*'  Still,  that  proves  nothing." 

*'  Precisely,  it  proves  nothing,"  —  repeated 
Arkady,  with  the  confidence  of  an  expert  chess- 
player who  has  foreseen  his  adversary's  appar- 
ently expert  move,  and  hence  is  not  in  the  least 
disconcerted. 

"  Why  does  it  prove  nothing? "  —  muttered 
the  astounded  Pavel  Petrovitch.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  are  marching  against  your 
people? " 

"  And  what  if  I  am?  " — exclaimed  Bazaroff . 
"  The  people  assume  that  when  the  thunder 
rumbles  it  is  the  prophet  Elijah  driving  across 
the  sky  in  his  chariot.  What  then?  Am  I 
bound  to  agree  with  them?  And,  moreover,  they 
are  Russians,  and  am  not  I  a  Russian  myself? " 

"  No,  you  are  not  a  Russian,  after  all  you  have 
just  said!  I  cannot  acknowledge  you  as  a  Rus- 
sian." 

87 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  My  grandfather  tilled  the  soil,"— replied 
BazaroiF,  with  haughty  pride.—"  Ask  any  one 
of  your  peasants,  in  which  of  us— in  you  or  in 
me — he  would  the  more  readily  recognise  a 
fellow-countryman.  You  do  not  even  know  how 
to  talk  with  him." 

"  But  you  talk  with  him,  and  despise  him,  at 
one  and  the  same  time." 

"  What  of  that,  if  he  deserves  to  be  despised? 
You  censure  my  tendency,  but  who  told  you  that 
it  is  accidental  in  my  case;  that  it  is  not  evoked 
by  that  same  spirit  of  the  people  in  the  name  of 
which  you  wage  war?  " 

"  The  idea !    Much  need  there  is  of  nihilists  I  " 

"  Whether  there  is  need  for  them  or  not,  is  not 
for  us  to  decide.  Assuredly,  you  consider  your- 
self not  devoid  of  usefulness." 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,  please  refrain  from 
personalities!"  exclaimed  Nikolai  Petrovitch, 
half -rising  from  his  seat. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  smiled,  and  laying  his  hand 
on  his  brother's  shoulder,  he  made  him  sit  down 
again.  —  "  Don't  worry,"  —  he  said.  —  I  shall 
not  forget  myself,  precisely  because  of  that  sense 
of  dignity  at  which  Mr.  .  .  .  Mr.  Doctor  jeers 
so  savagely.  Pardon  me,"— he  went  on,  address- 
ing himself  once  more  to  Bazaroff : — "  perhaps 
you  think  your  doctrine  is  a  novelty?  You  are 
mistaken  in  thinking  so.  The  materialism  which 
you  preach  has  been  in  vogue  more  than  once 

88 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

already,  and  has  always  shown  itself  to  be 
inadequate.  ..." 

"  Another  foreign  word!  " — interrupted  Baza- 
roflF.  He  was  beginning  to  get  angry,  and  his 
countenance  assumed  a  sort  of  coarse,  brazen 
hue. — "  In  the  first  place,  we  are  not  preaching 
anything;   that  is  not  our  habit.  .  .  ." 

"What  do  you  do,  then?" 

"  This  is  what  we  do.  Formerly,  in  days  which 
are  not  yet  remote,  we  were  accustomed  to  say 
that  our  officials  took  bribes;  that  we  had  no 
roads,  no  trade,  no  regular  courts  of  justice.  .  ." 

"  Well,  yes,  yes,  you  are  accusers,— I  believe 
that  is  what  it  is  called.  And  with  many  of  your 
accusations  I  agree,  but  .  .  .  ." 

"  But,  later  on,  it  dawned  upon  us  that  it 
was  not  worth  while  to  prate,  and  do  nothing 
but  prate,  about  our  ulcers;  that  that  led  only  to 
trivialities  and  doctrinairism ;  we  perceived  that 
our  clever  men,  the  so-called  leading  men  and 
accusers,  were  good  for  nothing,  that  we  were 
busying  ourselves  with  nonsense,  talking  about 
some  sort  of  art,  about  unconscious  creation, 
about  parliamentarism,  about  advocateship,  and 
the  devil  knows  what  else,  when  it  was  a  ques- 
tion of  daily  bread,  when  the  crudest  supersti- 
tion was  stifling  us,  when  all  our  stock  companies 
were  failing  simply  through  the  lack  of  honest 
men,  when  the  very  liberty  which  the  Govern- 
ment is  working  over  is  hardly  likely  to  be  of 

89 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

any  use  to  us,  because  our  peasant  is  ready  to  rob 
himself,  if  only  he  may  drink  himself  dead  drunk 
in  the  pot-house." 

"  Exactly,"— interrupted  Pavel  Petrovitch,— 
"  exactly  so :  you  have  become  convinced  of  all 
this,  and  have  made  up  your  minds  not  to  set 
about  anything  seriously." 

"  And  have  decided  not  to  set  about  any- 
thing,"— repeated  Bazarojff  grimly.  He  sud- 
denly became  vexed  with  himself  for  having 
been  so  expansive  in  the  presence  of  this  gentle- 
man. 

"And  only  to  rail?" 

"  Yes,  only  to  rail." 

"  And  that  is  called  nihilism?  " 

*'  And  that  is  called  nihilism," — repeated  Baza- 
rofF  once  more,  this  time  with  peculiar  insolence. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  narrowed  his  eyes  slightly. 

"So  that's  the  way  the  wind  blows!"— he 
said,  in  a  strangely  quiet  voice.—"  Nihilism  is 
bound  to  aid  every  woe,  and  you,  you  are  our 
deliverers  and  heroes.  But  for  what  do  you  take 
others, — those  same  deliverers,  for  example?  Do 
not  you  prate,  like  all  the  rest?  " 

"  We  are  guilty  in  some  other  respects,  but  not 
of  that  sin," — articulated  BazaroiF  through  his 
teeth. 

"What,  then?  Do  you  do  anything,  pray? 
Are  you  preparing  to  act? " 

Bazaroff  made  no  reply.      Pavel   Petrovitch 

90 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

was  fairly  quivering,  but  he  immediately  re- 
gained control  of  himself. 

"H'm!  ...  To  act,  to  demolish  .  .  .  ."  he 
continued. — "  But  why  demolish  without  even 
knowing  the  reason? " 

"  We  demolish  because  we  are  a  force," — re- 
marked Arkady. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  looked  at  his  nephew,  and 
laughed. 

"  Yes,  a  force, — and  a  force,  as  such,  does  not 
render  an  account  of  itself," — said  Arkady,  and 
straightened  himself  up. 

"Unhappy  man," — roared  Pavel  Petrovitch; 
he  positively  was  not  able  to  restrain  himself  any 
longer: — "  thou  mightest  take  into  consideration 
what  it  is  in  Russia  that  thou  art  upholding  by 
thy  trivial  judgment !  No,  this  is  enough  to  make 
an  angel  lose  patience!  Force!  There  is  force 
in  the  savage  Kalmyk,  and  in  the  Mongolian  also, 
but  what  is  that  to  us? — Civilisation  is  dear  to  us, 
— yes,  sir,  yes,  my  dear  sir,  its  fruits  are  dear  to 
us.  And  do  not  tell  me  that  those  fruits  are  in- 
significant: the  most  wretched  dauber,  un  har- 
bouilleur,  a  player  of  dance-music  who  is  paid 
five  kopeks  an  evening,— all  of  them  are  more 
useful  than  you,  because  they  are  representatives 
of  civilisation,  and  not  of  crude  Mongolian  force ! 
You  imagine  that  you  are  leaders,  but  the  only 
proper  place  for  you  is  in  a  Kalmyk  tent!  A 
force!    But   pray  recollect,   in   conclusion,   you 

91 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

forceful  gentlemen,  that  there  are  only  four  men 
and  a  half  of  you,  but  there  are  millions  of  those 
who  will  not  permit  you  to  trample  under  foot 
their  most  sacred  beliefs,  who  will  crush  you!  " 

"  If  they  crush  us,  there  lies  the  road," — said 
BazaroiF. — "  Only,  that  question  has  not  yet  been 
decided.  We  are  not  so  few  in  number  as  you 
suppose." 

"  What?  Jesting  aside,  do  you  think  you  will 
be  able  to  manage  things ;  that  you  are  more  than 
a  match  for  the  whole  nation? " 

"  Moscow  was  burned  to  the  ground  by  a  far- 
thing candle,  you  know," — replied  Bazaroff . 
.  *'  Precisely,  precisely.  First  an  almost  satanic 
pride,  then  derision.  That — that  is  what  seduces 
the  young  generation,  that  is  what  subjugates  the 
inexperienced  hearts  of  wretched  little  boys! 
Look!  there  sits  one  of  them  by  your  side;  you 
see  that  he  is  almost  worshipping  you;  admire 
him."  (Arkady  turned  aside  and  frowned.) 
"  And  this  infection  is  already  widely  dissem- 
inated. I  am  told  that  our  artists  in  Rome  never 
set  foot  inside  the  Vatican.  They  regard  Ra- 
phael as  almost  a  fool,  because,  forsooth,  he  is  an 
authority;  but  they  themselves  are  disgustingly 
impotent  and  sterile,  and  their  imagination  goes 
no  further  than  '  A  Girl  at  the  Fountain,*  say 
what  you  will !  And  the  girl  is  very  badly  painted, 
to  boot.  They  are  fine  fellows  in  your  opinion, 
are  n't  they?" 

92 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  In  my  opinion,"— retorted  BazaroiF:— "  Ra- 
phael is  n't  worth  a  copper  farthing ;  and  they 
are  better  than  he!  " 

"  Bravo !  bravo  I  Listen,  Arkady  ....  that's 
the  way  young  men  of  the  present  day  ought  to 
express  themselves!  And,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it,  how  can  they  help  following  you !  In 
former  days,  young  folks  had  to  study ;  they  did 
not  care  to  bear  the  reputation  of  ignoramuses, 
so  they  worked,  willy-nilly.  But  now,  all  they 
have  to  do  is  to  say :  '  Everything  in  the  world  is 
nonsense!' — and  that's  the  end  of  the  matter. 
The  young  folks  are  overjoyed.  And,  in  fact, 
formerly  they  were  simply  blockheads,  but  now 
they  have  suddenly  become  nihilists." 

"  That 's  where  your  boasted  sense  of  personal 
dignity  has  fooled  you,"— remarked  Bazaroff 
coolly,  while  Arkady  flared  up,  and  his  eyes 
flashed. — "  Our  dispute  has  gone  too  far.  .  .  I 
think  it  would  be  better  to  put  an  end  to  it.  And 
I  shall  be  ready  to  agree  with  you," — he  added, 
rising, — "  when  you  can  bring  forward  a  single 
institution  of  our  contemporary  existence,  either 
domestic  or  social,  which  does  not  challenge  total 
rejection." 

"  I  will  present  to  you  millions  of  such  insti- 
tutions,"—exclaimed   Pavel   Petrovitch:—"  mil- 
lions !    Why,  take  the  commune,  for  example." 
•     A  cold  sneer  curled  BazarofF's  lips. — "  Well,  so 
far  as  the  commune  is  concerned," — said  he: — 

93 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  you  had  better  talk  with  your  brother.  I  think 
he  has  now  found  out,  in  practice,  what  the  com- 
mune is  hke:  thorough  security,  sobriety,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing." 

"  The  family,  then,— the  family,  as  it  exists 
among  our  peasants!  "—shouted  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch. 

"  That  question,  also,  I  think,  it  would  be  better 
for  you  not  to  inquire  into  in  detail.  You  have 
heard,  I  fancy,  of  men  making  love  to  their  sons' 
wives?  Listen  to  me,  Pavel  Petrovitch:  give 
yourself  a  couple  of  days  of  grace ;  it  is  n't  likely 
that  you  will  be  able  to  find  anything  on  the  spot. 
Sort  over  all  classes  of  our  society,  and  meditate 
well  over  each  one,  and,  in  the  meantime,  Arkady 
and  I  wiU  .  .  ." 

"  Sneer  at  everything,"— put  in  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch. 

"  No,  cut  up  frogs.  Come  on,  Arkady;  fare- 
well for  the  present,  gentlemen!  " 

The  two  friends  quitted  the  room.  The  bro- 
thers were  left  alone,  and,  at  first,  they  merely 
stared  at  each  other. 

"  There,"— began  Pavel  Petrovitch  at  last:— 
"  there  's  the  youth  of  the  present  day  for  you! 
There  they  are — our  heirs!  " 

"  Our  heirs,"— repeated  Nikolai  Petrovitch, 
with  a  sigh  of  depression.  He  had  been  sitting  on 
hot  coals,  as  it  were,  during  the  whole  course  of 

94 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

the  dispute,  and  had  merely  cast  furtive,  pained 
glances  at  Arkady.—"  Dost  thou  know,  brother, 
what  has  recurred  to  my  mind?  One  day,  I  quar- 
relled with  our  deceased  mother:  she  screamed, 
and  would  not  listen  to  me  .  .  .  At  last  I  said 
to  her, — '  You  cannot  understand  me,'  said  I : '  we 
belong  to  two  different  generations,'  said  I.  She 
was  frightfully  angry,  and  I  thought  to  my- 
self: What  is  to  be  done?  The  pill  is  bitter— 
but  it  must  be  swallowed.  So  now,  our  turn 
has  come,  and  our  successors  can  say  to  us: 
*  You  are  not  of  our  generation — swallow  the 
pill.'  " 

"  Thou  art  too  kind-hearted  and  modest," — re- 
turned Pavel  Petrovitch;— "  on  the  contrary,  I 
am  convinced  that  thou  and  I  are  far  more  in  the 
right  than  those  little  gentlemen,  although  we  ex- 
press ourselves,  perhaps,  in  somewhat  antiquated 
language,  have  vielli^  and  do  not  possess  that  au- 
dacious self-conceit.  .  .  And  how  puffed  up 
the  young  people  of  the  present  day  are!  Ask 
one  of  them :  '  What  wine  do  you  prefer,  red  or 
white  ? ' — '  I  am  accustomed  to  prefer  red ! '  he 
repHes  in  a  bass  voice,  and  with  as  pompous  a 
visage,  as  though  the  whole  universe  were  gazing 
at  him  at  the  moment.  .  ." 

"  Would  not  you  hke  some  more  tea?  " — said 
Fenitchka,  sticking  her  head  in  at  the  door:  she 
had  not  been  able  to  bring  herself  to  enter  the 

95 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

drawing-room  while  the  voices  of  the  disputants 
were  resounding  there. 

"  No,  thou  mayest  give  orders  to  have  the 
samovar  removed," — replied  Nikolai  Petrovitch, 
rising  to  greet  her.  Pavel  Petrovitch  abruptly 
wished  him  "  Bon  soirf  and  went  off  to  his  own 
study. 


96 


XI 

Half  an  hour  later,  Nikolai  Petrovitch  betook 
himself  to  the  garden,  to  his  favourite  arbour. 
Melancholy  thoughts  had  taken  possession  of  him. 
For  the  first  time  he  clearly  realised  the  breach 
between  himself  and  his  son ;  he  had  a  foreboding 
that  with  every  passing  day  it  would  become 
wider  and  wider.  So  it  was  in  vain  that  he  had 
sat,  at  Petersburg,  over  the  newest  books,  during 
the  winter;  in  vain  had  he  listened  to  the  conver- 
sations of  the  young  men;  in  vain  had  he  rejoiced 
when  he  had  succeeded  in  interpolating  a  remark 
of  his  own  into  their  fervent  speeches.  "  My 
brother  says  that  we  are  in  the  right,"  he  thought; 
"  and  setting  aside  all  self-conceit,  it  seems  to  me, 
also,  that  they  are  further  from  the  truth  than 
we  are;  and,  at  the  same  time,  I  feel  that  they 
have  something  which  we  do  not  possess,  some  su- 
periority over  us.  .  .  Youth?  No :  it  is  not  youth 
alone.  Does  not  their  superiority  consist  in  the 
fact,  that  in  them  there  are  fewer  traces  of  the 
gentry  regime  than  in  us?  " 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  hung  his  head,  and  passed 
his  hand  over  his  face. 

"  But  must  one  reject  poetry?  **— he  said  to 

97 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

himself  again:  "  is  one  to  feel  no  sympathy  for 
art,  for  nature?  ..." 

And  he  cast  a  glance  around  him,  as  though  de- 
sirous of  understanding  how  it  was  possible  not  to 
feel  sympathy  for  nature.  The  shades  of  twilight 
were  already  beginning  to  descend;  the  sun  had 
hidden  itself  behind  a  small  aspen  grove,  which 
lay  half  a  verst  distant  from  the  garden;  its 
shadow  stretched  out  inimitably  across  the  mo- 
tionless fields.  A  peasant  was  riding  at  a  gallop 
on  a  white  horse,  along  the  dark,  narrow  road 
which  skirted  the  edge  of  the  grove:  his  whole 
figure  was  clearly  visible,  everything  about  him, 
down  to  the  patch  on  his  shoulder,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  riding  in  the  shadow;  the  hoofs 
of  the  horse  flashed  out  with  pleasing  distinctness. 
The  rays  of  the  sun,  on  their  side,  made  their  way 
into  the  grove,  and  piercing  through  the  thick- 
ets, flooded  the  boles  of  the  trees  with  so  warm  a 
glow,  that  these  were  made  to  resemble  the  boles 
of  pine-trees,  while  their  foliage  turned  almost 
blue,  and  above  it  rose  the  pale  azure  sky, 
faintly  crimsoned  by  the  sunset.  The  swallows 
were  flying  high;  the  breeze  had  completely  died 
down ;  belated  bees  hummed  languidly  and  sleep- 
ily in  the  lilac  blossoms ;  midges  hovered  in  a  pillar 
above  an  isolated,  far-outstretching  branch.  *'  My 
God,  how  beautiful!"  thought  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch,  and  his  favourite  verses  were  on  the  point  of 
springing  to  his  lips:  he  recalled  Arkady,— "Stoff 

98 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

und  Kraft  "—and  fell  silent,  but  continued  to  sit 
on,  continued  to  surrender  himself  to  the  sad  and 
cheering  play  of  his  solitary  meditations.  He 
loved  to  meditate;  country  life  had  developed  in 
him  this  capacity.  It  was  not  so  very  long  since 
he  had  meditated  as  he  waited  for  his  son  at  the 
posting-station,  and  since  then  a  change  had 
taken  place,  and  their  relations,  which  had  still 
been  ill-defined  at  that  time,  had  become  clearly 
defined  ....  and  in  what  a  way !  Again  his  de- 
ceased wife  presented  herself  to  him,  but  not  as 
he  had  known  her  during  the  course  of  many 
years, — not  as  a  thrifty,  kind  housewife,  but  as  a 
young  girl  with  a  slender  form,  an  innocently- 
inquiring  glance,  and  her  hair  closely  coiled  on 
her  childish  neck.  He  recalled  her  as  he  had  be- 
held her  for  the  first  time.  He  was  a  student  then. 
He  had  met  her  on  the  staircase  of  the  lodgings 
in  which  he  lived,  and,  unintentionally,  he  had  jos- 
tled her,  had  turned  round,  had  endeavoured  to 
excuse  himself,  and  had  only  been  able  to  stam- 
mer, "Pardon,  monsieur ^  while  she  had  bent  her 
head,  had  laughed,  and  then,  suddenly,  had 
seemed  to  take  fright,  and  had  fled;  but  at  the 
turn  of  the  staircase  she  had  thrown  a  glance 
backward  at  him,  had  assumed  a  serious  mien,  and 
had  blushed.  And  then,  the  first  timid  visits,  the 
half-words,  the  half -smiles,  and  the  awkwardness, 
and  the  sadness,  and  the  outbursts,  and,  at  last, 
that  panting  joy.  .  .  Whither  had  all  that  whirled 

99 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

away?  She  had  become  his  wife;  he  had  been 
happy  as  few  on  earth  are  happy.  .  .  "  But,"  he 
thought : — * 'those  delightful  first  moments ; — why 
could  not  they  live  forever,  with  life  immortal?  " 

He  did  not  attempt  to  elucidate  his  thought  to 
himself,  but  he  was  conscious  that  he  would  have 
liked  to  hold  fast  to  that  blissful  time  by  some- 
thing more  forcible  than  memory ;  he  would  have 
hked  to  possess  once  more  tangible  evidence  of  his 
Marya's  nearness,  to  feel  her  warmth  and  her 
breath;  and  he  had  already  begun  to  fancy  that, 
above  him 

"  Nikolai  Petrovitch," — resounded  Fenitchka's 
voice  near  him:—"  where  are  you?  " 

He  shuddered.  He  was  neither  pained  nor  con- 
science-stricken. .  .  He  did  not  even  admit  the 
possibility  of  a  comparison  between  his  wife  and 
Fenitchka,  but  he  regretted  that  she  had  taken  a 
notion  to  hunt  him  up.  Her  voice  instantaneously 
reminded  him  of  his  grey  hair,  his  advanced  age, 
his  present  .... 

The  world  of  enchantment,  into  which  he  had 
already  entered,  which  had  sprung  forth  from  the 
misty  waves  of  the  past,  trembled,— and  vanished. 

"I  am  here,"— he  replied:  "I  will  come;  go 
along."  "  Here  are  traces  of  the  old  gentry  re- 
gime," flashed  through  his  mind'.  Fenitchka 
peeped  silently  at  him  in  the  arbour,  and  disap- 
peared; and  he  noticed,  with  surprise,  that  night 
had  descended  since  he  had  begun  to  meditate. 

100 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Everything  had  grown  dark  and  silent  round 
about,  and  Fenitchka's  face  flitted  before  him, 
very  white  and  small.  He  half -rose  from  his  seat, 
and  was  about  to  set  out  homeward ;  but  his  soft- 
ened heart  would  not  calm  down  in  his  breast,  and 
he  began  to  stroll  slowly  about  the  garden,  now 
thoughtfully  staring  at  the  ground  beneath  his 
feet,  now  raising  his  eyes  to  the  sky,  where  the 
stars  were  swarming  and  twinkling.  He  walked 
for  a  long  time,  almost  to  fatigue,  and  still  the 
tumult  within  him,  a  sort  of  importunate,  unde- 
fined, melancholy  tumult,  did  not  subside.  Oh, 
how  Bazaroff  would  have  laughed  at  him,  had  he 
known  what  was  going  on  within  him  then  I  Ar- 
kady himself  would  have  condemned  him.  Tears, 
causeless  tears,  welled  up  in  his  eyes — in  the  eyes 
of  the  agriculturist  and  estate-owner;  this  was 
a  hundredfold  worse  than  the  violoncello. 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  continued  to  walk,  and 
could  not  bring  himself  to  enter  the  house,  that 
peaceful  and  cosey  nest,  which  gazed  with  such 
welcome  at  him  from  all  its  illuminated  windows ; 
he  was  not  able  to  tear  himself  away  from  the 
darkness,  from  the  garden,  from  the  feeling  of 
the  cool  air  on  his  face,  and  from  that  sadness, 
that  agitation  .... 

At  a  turn  in  the  path,  Pavel  Petrovitch  met 
him. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  thee?  "—he  asked 
Nikolai   Petrovitch :  —  "  thou   art   as   pale   as   a 

101 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

ghost;  thou  art  not  well;  why  dost  not  thou  go  to 
bed?" 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  explained  to  him,  in  brief 
words,  his  spiritual  condition,  and  walked  on. 
Pavel  Petrovitch  went  to  the  end  of  the  garden, 
and  he  also  became  thoughtful,  and  he  also 
raised  his  eyes  to  heaven.  But  in  his  fine,  dark 
eyes  there  was  nothing  reflected  except  the  light 
of  the  stars.  He  had  not  been  born  romantic,  and 
his  elegantly-dry  and  passionate  soul,  misan- 
thropic after  the  French  fashion,  did  not  know 
how  to  meditate.  .  .  . 

"  Dost  thou  know  what? "  said  Bazaroff  to 
Arkady,  that  same  night. — "  A  magnificent  idea 
has  come  into  my  head.  Thy  father  said,  to-day, 
that  he  had  received  an  invitation  from  that  dis- 
tinguished relative  of  yours.  Thy  father  will  not 
go ;  let 's  flit  off*,  thou  and  I,  to  *  *  *  ;  that  gentle- 
man has  invited  thee  also,  thou  knowest.  For 
thou  seest  what  sort  of  weather  has  set  in  here; 
but  we  will  have  a  drive,  we  '11  take  a  look  at  the 
town.  We  '11  lounge  about  five  or  six  days,  and 
—basta!'' 

"  And  wilt  thou  return  here  from  there?  " 

"  No,  I  must  go  to  my  father.  Thou  knowest 
he  is  thirty  versts  from  *  *  *.  I  have  not  seen  him 
for  a  long  time,  nor  my  mother  either;  I  must 
comfort  the  old  folks.  They  are  good  people, 
especially  my  father :  he  's  very  amusing.  And 
I  'm  their  only  child." 

102 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"And  wilt  thou  remain  long  with  them?" 

"  I  think  not.    I  shall  be  bored,  I  fancy.'* 

"  And  wilt  thou  drop  in  to  see  us  on  thy  way 
back?" 

"  I  don't  know.  .  .  I  shall  see.  Come,  how  is  it 
to  be?    Shall  we  go?" 

"  If  thou  wishest,"— remarked  Arkady  lazily. 

At  heart,  he  was  greatly  delighted  at  his 
friend's  proposal,  but  he  considered  himself 
bound  to  conceal  his  feehng.  Not  for  nothing 
was  he  a  nihilist. 

On  the  following  day,  he  drove  off  with  Baza- 
roff  to  *  *  *.  The  young  people  at  Marino  re- 
gretted their  departure;  Dunyasha  even  fell  to 
weeping  .  .  .  but  the  older  men  breathed  more 
freely. 


103 


XII 

The  town  of  *  *  *,  whither  our  friends  had  be- 
taken themselves,  lay  in  the  jurisdiction  of  a  gov- 
ernor who  belonged  to  the  younger  generation, 
was  progressive  and  a  despot,  as  is  often  the  case 
in  Russia.  In  the  course  of  the  first  year  of  his 
rule,  he  managed  to  quarrel,  not  only  with  the 
Marshal  of  the  Nobility  for  the  Government,  a 
retired  stafF-captain  of  cavalry  in  the  Guards, 
a  horse-breeder  and  hospitable  man,  but  also  with 
his  own  officials.  The  altercations  which  arose  in 
consequence  finally  attained  to  such  dimensions 
that  the  Ministry  in  Petersburg  found  it  indis- 
pensable to  send  a  confidential  person  with  a 
commission  to  investigate  everything  on  the  spot. 
The  choice  of  the  administration  fell  upon  Mat- 
vyei  Ilitch  Kolyazin,  the  son  of  that  Kolyazin  un- 
der whose  protection  the  Kirsanoff  brothers  had 
once  been.  He,  also,  was  one  of  the  **  young  gen- 
eration," that  is  to  say,  he  had  only  recently  passed 
his  fortieth  birthday;  but  he  was  already  aiming 
to  become  a  statesman,  and  wore  a  star  on  each 
side  of  his  breast.  One,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  of  a 
foreign  Order,  and  of  a  petty  Order,  at  that. 
Like  the  Governor,  whom  he  had  come  to  judge, 

104 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

he  regarded  himself  as  progressive,  and,  being 
akeady  a  big-wig,  did  not  resemble  the  majority 
of  big-wigs.  He  cherished  the  loftiest  opinion  of 
himself;  his  vanity  knew  no  bounds;  but  he  bore 
himself  simply,  his  gaze  was  approving,  he  hs- 
tened  affably  and  smiled  so  good-naturedly  that, 
at  first  sight,  he  might  have  passed  for  a  "  splen- 
did fellow."  But,  on  important  occasions,  he 
knew  how  to  kick  up  a  row,  as  the  expression  goes. 
"  Energy  is  indispensable,  "—he  was  wont  to  say 
then, — "  Venergie  est  la  premiere  qualite  d'un 
homme  d'etat";  but,  notwithstanding  this,  he  gen- 
erally got  left  in  the  lurch,  and  any  official  who 
was  in  the  least  degree  experienced  rode  him  at 
will.  Matvyei  Ilitch  referred  with  great  respect 
to  Guizot,  and  tried  to  impress  upon  all  and  sun- 
dry that  he  did  not  belong  to  the  class  of 
routine  men,  and  bureaucrats,  who  were  be- 
hind the  times,  that  he  let  not  a  single  important 
phenomenon  of  social  life  escape  his  attention.  .  . 
All  such  words  were  well  known  to  him.  He 
even  watched,  with  careless  haughtiness,  it  is  true, 
the  development  of  contemporary  literature :  like 
a  grown  man  who,  on  encountering  upon  the 
street  a  procession  of  small  boys,  sometimes  joins 
their  ranks.  In  reality,  Matvyei  Ilitch  had  not 
got  very  far  away  from  those  statesmen  of  the 
epoch  of  Alexander,  who,  when  preparing  to 
spend  the  evening  with  Madame  Svetchm,  who 
then  resided  in  Petersburg,  were  accustomed  to 

105 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

read  a  page  of  Condillac  in  the  morning:  only, 
his  methods  were  different— more  modern.  He 
was  a  clever  courtier,  a  very  artful  blade,  and 
nothing  more;  he  did  not  understand  business, 
he  had  no  mind,  but  he  knew  how  to  manage  his 
own  affairs;  no  one  could  saddle  and  ride  him 
in  that  quarter,  and  that  is  the  chief  thing,  after 
all. 

Matvyei  Ilitch  received  Arkady  with  the  affa- 
bility peculiar  to  an  enlightened  dignitary, — we 
will  say  more :  with  playfulness.  Nevertheless,  he 
was  amazed  when  he  learned  that  the  relatives 
whom  he  had  invited  had  remained  in  the  country. 
"  Thy  papa  was  always  a  queer  fish,"  he  re- 
marked, twirling  the  tassels  of  his  magnificent 
velvet  dressing-gown ;  and,  all  at  once,  turning  to 
a  young  official  in  the  most  well-intentioned, 
closely-buttoned  undress-uniform,  he  exclaimed, 
with  an  anxious  aspect,  "  What?  "  The  young 
man,  whose  lips  were  glued  fast  together  through 
prolonged  silence,  rose,  and  stared  at  his  superior 
with  surprise.  But,  after  having  stunned  his  sub- 
ordinate, Matvyei  Ilitch  paid  no  further  atten- 
tion to  him.  Our  officials,  in  general,  are  fond  of 
stunning  their  subordinates,  and  the  means  to 
which  they  resort  for  the  attainment  of  this  end 
are  decidedly  varied.  The  following  method, 
among  others,  is  frequently  employed, — "  is  quite 
a  favourite,"  as  the  English  say:  the  dignitary 
suddenly  ceases  to  understand  the  most  simple 

106 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

words,  deafness  descends  upon  him.  He  will  ask, 
for  example:  "  What  day  is  to-day?  " 

He  is  informed,  in  the  most  respectful  man- 
ner: "  To-day  is  Friday,  your  'c  .  .  c'len  .  .  .  cy." 

"  How?  What?  What  do  you  mean  by  Fri- 
day?   What  Friday?" 

"  Friday,  your  'c  .  .  .  .  ccc  .  .  .  ccc 

lency,  is  a  day  of  the  week." 

"  Come,  now,  hast  thou  taken  it  into  thy  laeend 
to  teach  me? " 

Matvyei  Ilitch  was  a  dignitary,  all  the  same, 
although  he  considered  himself  a  liberal. 

"  I  advise  thee,  my  friend,  to  call  upon  the 
Governor," — he  said  to  Arkady: — "  thou  under- 
standest,  I  give  thee  this  advice,  not  because  I  am 
wedded  to  antique  conceptions  as  to  the  necessity 
of  going  and  making  one's  bow  to  the  powers 
that  be,  but  simply  because  the  Governor  is  a 
nice  man;  moreover,  thou  art,  probably,  desirous 
of  making  acquaintance  with  the  local  society.  .  . 
For  thou  art  not  a  bear,  I  hope?  And  he  is  going 
to  give  a  great  ball  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"  Shall  you  be  at  the  ball?  "—inquired  Arkady. 

"  He  is  giving  it  in  my  honour," — said  Matvyei 
Ilitch,  almost  with  compunction.  "  Dost  thou 
dance?  " 

"  Yes,  but  badly." 

"  That  is  a  mistake.  There  are  pretty  women 
here,  and  it  is  a  shame  for  a  young  man  not  to 
dance.    And  again,  I  say  this  not  in  virtue  of  an- 

107 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

tique  ideas ;  I  do  not,  in  the  least,  assume  that  the 
brain  must  be  located  in  the  feet,  but  Byronism  is 
ridiculous,  il  a  fait  son  temps/' 

"  Why,  uncle,  it  is  not  in  the  least  because  of 
Byronism  that  I " 

"  I  will  introduce  thee  to  the  young  ladies  here, 
I  will  take  thee  under  my  wing," — interrupted 
Matvyei  IHtch,  and  laughed  in  a  self-satisfied 
way.    "  Thou  wilt  find  it  warm,  hey?  " 

A  servant  entered  and  announced  the  arrival 
of  the  chairman  of  the  Court  of  Exchequer,  a 
soft-eyed  old  man,  with  wrinkled  lips,  who  was  ex- 
tremely fond  of  nature,  especially  on  a  summer 
day,  when,  according  to  his  words,  "  every  little 
bee  takes  a  bribe  from  every  little  blossom.  .  .  " 
Arkady  withdrew. 

He  found  BazaroiF  in  the  inh  where  they  had 
put  up,  and  tried  for  a  long  time  to  persuade  him 
to  go  to  the  Governor.  "  There  's  nothing  to  be 
done!"  said  Bazaroff"  at  last, — "as  you  have  made 
your  bed,  so  you  must  lie  upon  it.  We  have  come 
to  inspect  the  landed  gentry,  so  let 's  inspect 
them  I " 

The  Governor  received  the  young  men  cour- 
teously, but  did  not  invite  them  to  sit  down, 
and  did  not  sit  down  himself.  He  was  forever 
bustling  and  hurrying;  he  donned  his  tight  un- 
dress-uniform in  the  morning,  and  an  excessively 
tight  neck-cloth,  never  ate  or  drank  his  fill,  was 
forever  giving  orders.    He  had  been  nicknamed 

108 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

in  the  Government  "  Bourdaloue,  "  the  allusion 
not  being  to  the  famous  French  preacher,  but  to 
bur  da.  ^  He  invited  Kirsanoff  and  Bazaroff  to 
his  ball,  and  a  couple  of  minutes  later  he  invited 
them  a  second  time,  under  the  impression  that 
they  were  brothers,  and  calling  them  "  Kaisa- 
roff." 

They  were  on  their  way  home  from  the  Gov- 
ernor's when,  suddenly,  from  one  of  the  passing 
drozhkies  there  sprang  out  a  man  of  short  stature, 
in  a  Slavyanophil  hussar  jacket,  and  with  the 
shout,  "  Evgeny  Vasihtch!  "  flung  himself  on  Ba- 
zaroff. 

"  Ah!  so  it 's  you,  Herr  Sitnikoff,"— said  Ba- 
zaroff, and  he  continued  to  stride  along  the  side- 
walk:— "  how  do  you  happen  to  be  here?  " 

"Just  imagine!  quite  by  accident,"— replied 
the  other,  and,  turning  toward  the  drozhky,  he 
waved  his  hand  five  times,  and  shouted:  "  Follow 
us,  foUow  us!  My  father  has  business  here," — he 
went  on,  as  he  sprang  across  the  gutter:—"  well, 
and  so  he  invited  me.  ...  I  learned  to-day  of 
your  arrival,  and  have  already  been  to  see  you." 
(In  fact,  the  friends,  on  their  return  to  their 
room,  found  there  a  card  with  the  corners  turned 
down,  and  the  name  of  Sitnikoff  in  French  on 
one  side  and  in  Slavonic  script  on  the  other.)  "  I 
hope  you  are  not  coming  from  the  Governor?  " 

"  Do  not  hope,— we  are  straight  from  him." 

1  A  bad,  muddy  beverage. — Tbanslatob. 

109 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Ah!  in  that  case  I  shall  call  upon  him  also. . . 
Evgeny  Vasflitch,  introduce  me  to  your  .  .  .  ^ 
him.  .  ." 

"  Sitnikoff—Kirsanoff,"— growled  Bazaroflf, 
without  halting. 

"  I  feel  greatly  flattered,"— began  Sitnikoff, 
walking  sideways,  grinning,  and  hastily  pull- 
ing off  his  far  too  elegant  gloves. — "  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  ....  I  am  an  old  acquain- 
tance of  Evgeny  Vasihtch,  and,  I  may  say,  his 
disciple.  I  am  indebted  to  him  for  my  regenera- 
tion  " 

Arkady  looked  at  Bazaroff 's  disciple.  An  agi- 
tated and  stupid  expression  lay  upon  the  small 
but  agreeable  features  of  his  smoothly-hcked 
face ;  his  small  eyes,  which  had  the  appearance  of 
being  crushed  in,  stared  intently  and  uneasily, 
and  he  laughed  uneasily,  with  a  sort  of  curt, 
wooden  laugh. 

"Would  you  believe  it,"— he  went  on:  "that 
when  Evgeny  Vasflitch  said,  for  the  first  time, 
in  my  presence,  that  one  ought  not  to  respect  the 
authorities,  I  experienced  such  rapture  ....  I 
fairly  seemed  to  have  recovered  my  sight  I  Here, 
said  I  to  myself,  I  have  found  a  man,  at  last !  By 
the  way,  Evgeny  Vasflitch,  you  must,  without 
fail,  caU  on  one  of  the  ladies  here,  who  is  thor- 
oughly in  a  position  to  understand  you,  and  for 
whom  your  visit  will  constitute  a  veritable  festi- 
val; you  have  heard  of  her,  I  think?  " 

110 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

**  Who  is  she?  "—articulated  Bazaroff  unwill- 
ingly. 

"  Madame  Kukshin,  Eudoxie,— Evdoksiya 
Kukshin.  She  is  a  remarkable  nature,  emanci- 
pee  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  a  leading 
woman.  Do  you  know  what?  Let 's  go  to  her 
now,  all  together.  She  hves  a  couple  of  paces 
from  here.  We  will  breakfast  there.  You  have 
not  breakfasted  yet,  of  course?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Well,  that 's  fine.  She  has  separated  from 
her  husband,  you  understand;  she  is  not  depen- 
dent on  anybody." 

"  Is  she  pretty?  "  interrupted  Bazaroff. 

"  N  .  .  .  no,  I  cannot  say  that  she  is." 

"  Then,  why  the  devil  do  you  invite  us  to  go 
to  her? " 

"  WeU,  you  jester,  you  jester!  .  .  .  She  will 
set  us  up  a  bottle  of  champagne." 

"  You  don't  say  so!  The  practical  man  is  vis- 
ible at  once.  By  the  way,  is  your  father  stiU  en- 
gaged in  revenue-farming? " 

"  Yes,"— said  Sitnikoff  hastily,  and  emitted  a 
shrill  laugh.    "  Well,  how  is  it  to  be ?    Is  it  a  go?  " 

"  I  really  do  not  know." 

"  Thou  hast  desired  to  observe  people,  so  go," 
— remarked  Arkady  in  an  undertone. 

"  But  what  of  you,  Mr.  Kirsanoff  ? "  inter- 
posed Sitnikoff.  "Pray  come  also;  we  cannot 
get  along  without  you." 

Ill 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  But  how  can  we  all  descend  upon  her  at 
once? " 

"  Never  mind.  Kukshina  ^  is  a  splendid  fel- 
low." 

"  Will  there  be  a  bottle  of  champagne? "  in- 
quired Bazaroff. 

"Three  bottles!"  exclauned  Sitnikoff.— **  I 
guarantee  that." 

"  How? " 

"  By  my  own  head." 

"  By  your  father's  purse  would  be  better. 
However,  we  will  go." 

*  The  feminine  form  of  the  surname,  without  prefix,  is  sometimes 
used,  as  well  as  the  masculine. — TaAKSLAToa. 


112 


XIII 

The  tiny  house  of  nobility,  after  the  Moscow 
fashion,  in  which  dwelt  Avdotya  ^  Nikitishna,  or 
Evdoksiya  Kukshin,  was  situated  on  one  of  the 
recently-burned  streets  of  the  town  of  *  *  *;  (it 
is  a  well-known  fact  that  our  provincial  capitals 
burn  down  every  five  years) .  At  the  door,  over  a 
visiting-card  nailed  up  askew,  the  bell-handle  was 
visible,  and  in  the  anteroom  the  visitors  were  met 
by  a  woman,  who  was  either  a  servant  or  a  com- 
panion, in  a  cap,— plain  tokens  of  the  house-mis- 
tress's progressive  tendencies.  SitnikofF  inquired 
whether  Avdotya  Nikitishna  was  at  home. 

"  Is  that  you,  Victor?  " — rang  out  a  shrill  voice 
from  the  adjoining  room. — "  Come  in." 

The  woman  in  the  cap  immediately  vanished. 

"  I  am  not  alone,"— said  SitnikofF,  briskly 
flinging  aside  his  Hungarian  cloak,  under  which 
appeared  something  in  the  nature  of  a  waistcoat, 
or  a  sack-coat,  and  casting  a  daring  glance  at  Ar- 
kady and  BazaroiF. 

"No  matter,"— replied  the  Yoice.—" Entrez! " 

The  young  men  entered.  The  room  in  which 
they   found   themselves   resembled    a   working- 

*  Avddtya  is  the  vulgar,  popular  form  of  Evdoksiya. — Tbanslatob. 

113 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

study  rather  than  a  drawing-room.  Documents, 
letters,  thick  numbers  of  Russian  journals,  chiefly- 
uncut,  were  scattered  about  on  the  dusty  tables; 
everywhere  the  discarded  butts  of  cigarettes 
gleamed  whitely.  On  the  leather  couch  half- 
reclined  a  lady,  young,  fair-haired,  rather  dishev- 
elled, in  a  silk  gown  which  was  not  quite  clean, 
with  big  bracelets  on  her  short  arms,  and  a  lace 
kerchief  on  her  head.  She  rose  from  the  divan, 
and  carelessly  drawing  up  on  her  shoulders  a  vel- 
vet cloak  lined  with  ermine  which  had  grown  yel- 
low, she  languidly  said,  "  Good  morning,  Victor," 
and  shook  SitnikofF  by  the  hand. 

"  Bazaroff,  Kirsanoff,"— said  he  abruptly,  in 
imitation  of  Bazaroff. 

"  You  are  welcome," — replied  Madame  Kuk- 
shm ;  and  riveting  upon  Bazaroff  her  round  eyes, 
between  which,  hke  an  orphan,  her  tiny,  snub  nose 
gleamed  redly,  she  added:—"  I  know  you,"— and 
shook  hands  with  him  also. 

Bazaroff  knit  his  brows.  There  was  nothing 
monstrous  about  the  tiny  and  homely  figure  of  the 
emancipated  woman;  but  the  expression  of  her 
face  had  an  unpleasant  effect  on  the  spectator. 
One  involuntarily  wanted  to  ask  her:  "  What 's 
the  matter?  Art  thou  hungry?  or  bored?  or 
afraid?  Why  art  thou  so  gloomy?"  Her 
soul,  like  that  of  Sitnikoff,  was  always  aching. 
She  talked  and  moved  in  a  very  free-and-easy 
way,  but,  at  the  same  time,  awkwardly :  evidently 

114 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

she  regarded  herself  as  a  good-natured  and  sim- 
ple being,  and  yet,  no  matter  what  she  did,  it  con- 
stantly seemed  to  you  that  that  was  not  precisely 
what  she  meant;  everything  turned  out  with  her, 
as  the  children  say,  done  "  on  purpose  "—that  is 
to  say,  not  simply,  not  naturally. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  you,  BazaroflF,"— she  re- 
peated. ( She  had  a  habit,  peculiar  to  many  pro- 
vincial and  Moscow  ladies,  of  calling  men  by  their 
surnames  on  first  acquaintance.)  "  Will  you 
have  a  cigar? " 

"  A  cigar  is  all  well  enough,"— chimed  in  Sit- 
nikoff ,  who  had  managed  to  throw  himself  into  an 
arm-chair,  in  a  lolling  posture,  and  stick  his  foot 
up  in  the  air; — "  but  pray  give  us  some  breakfast. 
We  are  frightfully  hungry ;  and  order  them  to  set 
up  a  bottle  of  champagne." 

"  Sybarite," — said  Evdoksiya,  and  laughed. 
(When  she  laughed  her  upper  gum  was  laid  bare 
above  her  teeth.) —"  He 's  a  Sybarite,  isn*t  he, 
BazarofF? " 

"  I  love  comfort,  hfe,"— remarked  Sitnikoff 
pompously. — "That  does  not  prevent  my  being 
a  liberal." 

"Yes,  it  does— it  does  prevent!" — exclaimed 
Evdoksiya;  but,  nevertheless,  she  ordered  her 
maid-servant  to  attend  to  the  breakfast  and  the 
champagne. — "  What  do  you  think  about  it?  " — 
she  added,  addressing  Bazaroff.— "  I  am  con- 
vinced that  you  share  my  opinion." 

115 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Well,  no,"— returned  Bazaroff :— "  a  piece 
of  meat  is  better  than  a  piece  of  bread,  even  from 
the  chemical  point  of  view." 

"  And  do  you  occupy  yourself  with  chemistry? 
It  is  my  passion.  I  have  even  invented  a  mastic 
myself." 

"A  mastic?    You?" 

"  Yes,  I.  And  do  you  know  with  what  object? 
In  order  to  make  dolls,  and  heads  which  shall  not 
break.  For  I  am  practical  too.  But  all  is  not 
yet  ready.  I  must  still  read  Liebig.  By  the  way, 
have  you  read  KislyakofF's  article  about  woman's 
work,  in  the  Moscow  News?  Read  it,  please. 
You  are  interested  in  the  woman  question,  of 
course?  And  in  schools  also?  What  does  your 
friend  do?    What  is  his  name?  " 

Madame  Kukshin  dropped  all  her  questions, 
one  after  another,  with  enervated  carelessness, 
without  waiting  for  answers ;  spoiled  children  talk 
to  their  nurses  in  the  same  way. 

"  My  name  is  Arkady  Nikolaevitch  Kirsa- 
noif,"— said  Arkady:— "and  I  do  nothing." 

Evdoksiya  laughed  aloud. — "  Isn't  that  nice? 
What,  don't  you  smoke?  Victor,  you  know  that 
I  am  angry  with  you." 

"  What  for? " 

"  I  hear  that  you  have  begun  to  praise  Georges 
Sand  again.  She  's  out  of  date,  and  that 's  all 
there  is  about  it!    How  is  it  possible  to  compare 

116 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

her  with  Emerson!  She  has  no  ideas  whatever 
as  to  education,  or  physiology,  or  anything.  I  am 
convinced  that  she  never  even  heard  of  embry- 
ology; and  in  our  time— how  can  you  get  along 
without  that?  "  (Evdoksiya  even  flung  her  hands 
apart.)  "  Akh,  what  a  wonderful  article  Elisye- 
vitch  has  written  on  that  subject!  He  is  a  tal- 
ented gentleman."  (Evdoksiya  constantly  used 
the  word  "  gentleman  "  instead  of  "  man.")  — 
"  Bazaroff ,  sit  down  beside  me  on  the  divan.  Per- 
haps you  do  not  know  that  I  am  frightfully  afraid 
of  you." 

"  Why  so,  permit  me  to  inquire." 

"  You  are  a  dangerous  gentleman ;  you  are  such 
a  critic.  Akh,  my  God!  I  am  ridiculous,  I  am 
talking  like  some  landed  proprietress  on  the 
steppe.  However,  I  really  am  a  landed  proprie- 
tress. I  manage  my  own  estate,  and  just  imag- 
ine! my  superintendent,  Erofei,  is  a  wonderful 
type,  just  hke  Cooper's  Pathfinder:  there  is  some- 
thing direct  about  him.  I  have  settled  down  here 
for  good.  The  town  is  intolerable,  is  n't  it?  But 
what  is  one  to  do?  " 

"  The  town  is  just  like  the  average  town," — re- 
marked BazarofF  coolly. 

"  All  the  interests  are  so  petty,— that  is  what  is 
so  dreadful!  I  used  to  live  in  Moscow  during  the 
winter  .  .  .  but  now  my  spouse,  M'sieu  Kukshin, 
lives  there.  And  then,  too,  Moscow  is  now  ...  1 

117 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

don't  know  what,— but  not  what  it  should  be.  I 
think  of  going  abroad;  I  was  on  the  very  point 
of  going  last  year." 

"  To  Paris,  of  course?  "—asked  Bazaroff. 

"  To  Paris,  and  to  Heidelberg." 

"  Why  to  Heidelberg?  " 

"  Good  gracious!— why,  Bunsen  is  there." 

Bazaroff  found  no  answer  to  this. 

"  Pierre  SapozhnikofF  ...  do  you  know  him? " 

"  No,  I  do  not." 

"  Good  gracious!— Pierre   Sapozhnikoff  .  . 
he  's  forever  at  Lydie  Khostatoff's  house." 

"  I  do  not  know  her,  either." 

"  Well,  he  offered  to  escort  me.  Thank  God, 
I  am  free,  I  have  no  children.  .  .  What  was  that 
I  said:  thank  God! — However,  it  makes  no  dif- 
ference." 

Evdoksiya  rolled  a  cigarette  with  her  fingers 
which  were  stained  brown  with  tobacco,  passed 
her  tongue  across  it,  sucked  it,  and  lighted  it.  A 
maid-servant  entered  with  a  tray. 

"  Ah,  here  is  breakfast !  WiU  you  have  some 
appetiser?  Victor,  uncork  the  bottle.  That 's  in 
your  line." 

"  It  is,  it  is,"— murmured  SitnikofF,  and  again 
he  laughed  shrilly. 

"  Are  there  pretty  women  here?  "—inquired 
Bazaroff,  as  he  drained  his  third  glass. 

"  Yes,"— replied  Evdoksiya:— "  but  they  are 
all  such  empty-headed  things.    For  instance,  mon 

118 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

amiej  Madame  Odintzoff,  is  n't  bad-looking. 
It 's  a  pity  that  her  reputation  is  rather  ....  But 
that  would  be  nothing,  only  she  has  no  freedom 
of  views,  no  breadth,  no  ...  .  you  know  what. 
The  whole  system  of  education  must  be  changed. 
I  have  already  given  thought  to  that  subject;  our 
women  are  very  badly  brought  up." 

"  You  can  do  nothing  with  them," — interposed 
Sitnikoff. — "  One  must  scorn  them,  and  I  do 
scorn  them,  wholly  and  completely!  "  (The  pos- 
sibiUty  of  scorning  and  expressing  his  scorn  was 
a  most  agreeable  sensation  for  Sitnikoff;  he  at- 
tacked women  in  particular,  without  a  suspicion 
that,  a  few  months  later,  he  was  doomed  to  cringe 
before  his  own  wife,  merely  because  she  had  been 
born  a  Princess  DurdoleosoiF.)  — "  Not  one  of 
them  has  ever  been  in  a  condition  to  comprehend 
our  conversation;  not  one  of  them  is  worth  it — 
that  we,  serious  men,  should  talk  about  her  I  " 

"  And  they  have  no  need  whatever  to  compre- 
hend our  conversation," — said  Bazaroff. 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking?  "—put  in 
Evdoksiya. 

"  Of  pretty  women." 

"What?  So  you  share  the  opinion  of 
Prud'hon?" 

Bazaroff  drew  himself  up  haughtily.  "  I  share 
no  one's  opinions:  I  have  my  own." 

"Down  with  authority!  "—shouted  Sitnikoff, 
delighted  at  the  opportunity  to  express  himself 

119 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

harshly  in  the  presence  of  a  man  before  whom  he 
cringed. 

"  But  Macaulay  himself  .  .  ."  began  Madame 
Kukshin.  .  . 

"Down  with  Macaulay!  "—thundered  Sitni- 
koff . — "  Do  you  stand  up  for  those  mean  peasant 
women? " 

"  Not  for  the  peasant  women,  but  for  the  rights 
of  women,  whom  I  have  sworn  to  defend  to  the 
last  drop  of  my  blood." 

"  Down  with  them!"— But  here  Sitnikoff  came 
to  a  halt.—"  But  I  do  not  deny  them,"— said  he. 

"  Yes,  I  see  that  you  are  a  Slavyanophil !  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  Slavyanophil,  although,  of 
course  .  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!  You  are  a  Slavyanophil! 
You  are  the  continuer  of  '  The  Household  Regu- 
lations.' *  You  ought  to  have  a  whip  in  your 
hand." 

"  A  whip  is  a  good  thing," — remarked  Baza- 
roiF:  "  but  here  we  have  got  to  the  last  drops.  .  ." 

"  Of  what?  "—interrupted  Evdoksiya. 

"  Of  the  champagne,  most  respected  Avdotya 
Nikitishna,— of  the  champagne— not  of  your 
blood." 

"  I  cannot  listen  with  indifference  when  you 
attack  women,"— went  on  Evdoksiya.—"  It  is 

1  "The  Domostr6y"  ("The  House  Regulator";  or,  "The  House- 
hold Regulations"):  reputed  to  be  by  Priest  Sylvester,  the  famous 
Confessor  of  Ivfin  the  Terrible  in  his  youth.  Its  precepts  concerning 
women  and  their  treatment  are  of  patriarchal  rigour.  —Translator. 

120 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

dreadful,  dreadful.  Instead  of  attacking  them, 
you  had  better  read  Michelet's  '  De  1'  Amour.' 
It 's  wonderful !  Gentlemen,  let  us  talk  of  love," 
— added  Evdoksiya,  languidly  dropping  her  hand 
on  the  crumpled  pillow  of  the  divan. 

A  sudden  silence  ensued. — "  No,  why  talk 
about  love?" — remarked  BazaroiF: — "but  you 
mentioned  Madame  Odintzoff  a  while  ago — I  be- 
lieve that  is  what  you  called  her?  Who  is  that 
lady?" 

"  A  charming,  charming  creature!  "  squeaked 
Sitnikoff.  "  I  will  introduce  you.  She  is  clever, 
wealthy,  a  widow.  Unfortunately,  she  is  not  yet 
sufficiently  developed.  She  ought  to  become  more 
intimately  acquainted  with  our  Evdoksiya.  I 
drink  to  your  health,  Eudoxie!  Let  us  clink 
glasses !  '  Et  toe,  et  tin-tin-tin.  Et  toe,  et  toe,  et 
tin-tin-tin!'".  .  .  . 

"  Victor,  you  are  a  scapegrace." 

Breakfast  lasted  a  long  time.  The  first  bottle 
of  champagne  was  followed  by  a  second,  a  third, 
and  even  a  fourth.  .  .  .  Evdoksiya  chattered  in- 
cessantly; Sitnikoff  seconded  her.  They  talked 
a  great  deal  on  the  subjects:  what  is  marriage — 
a  prejudice  or  a  crime?  and  how  are  people  born 
— all  alike  or  not?  and  in  what,  precisely,  does 
individuality  consist?  At  last,  the  discussion 
reached  a  point  where  Evdoksiya,  all  flushed  crim- 
son with  the  wine  she  had  drunk,  and  tapping 
the  keys  of  a  discordant  piano  with  her  flat  nails, 

121 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

began  to  sing,  at  first  gipsy  songs,  then  the  ro- 
mance of  Seymour-SchifF,  "  Sleepy  Granada 
slumbers  " ;  and  Sitnikoif  bound  up  his  head  with 
a  scarf  and  represented  the  dying  lover,  at  the 
words : 

"  And  melt  my  mouth  with  thine 
In  a  burning  kiss." 

At  last  Arkady  could  endure  it  no  longer. 
"  Gentlemen,  this  has  come  to  resemble  Bedlam," 
he  remarked  aloud.  Bazaroff,  who  had  only  in- 
terjected a  sneering  word  now  and  then  into  the 
conversation,— he  was  mainly  occupied  with  the 
champagne,— yawned  loudly,  rose,  and  without 
taking  leave  of  the  hostess,  went  away,  in  com- 
pany with  Arkady.    Sitnikoif  rushed  after  them. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think, — well,  what  do  you 
think?  "—he  kept  asking,  obsequiously  running 
now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left:—*'  did  n't  I  tell 
you  she  's  a  remarkable .  person !  We  ought  to 
have  more  women  of  that  sort!  In  her  way,  she 
is  a  highly -moral  phenomenon." 

"And  is  that  establishment  of  thy  father  a 
moral  phenomenon  also?  "—said  Bazaroff,  jerk- 
ing his  finger  in  the  direction  of  a  dram-shop 
which  they  were  passing  at  the  moment. 

Again  Sitnikoff  emitted  a  squealing  laugh. 
He  was  very  much  ashamed  of  his  origin,  and  did 
not  know  whether  to  feel  flattered  or  insulted  by 
Bazaroff 's  unexpectedly  addressing  him  as  thou. 

122 


XIV 

A  FEW  days  later  the  ball  came  off  at  the  Gov- 
ernor's. Matvyei  flitch  was  the  real  "  hero  of  the 
festival " ;  the  Marshal  of  Nobility  for  the  Gov- 
ernment announced  to  all  and  sundry  that  he  had 
come  especially  out  of  respect  for  him,  and  the 
Governor,  even  at  the  ball,  even  although  he  still 
remained  impassive,  continued  to  "  issue  orders." 
Matvyei  Ilitch's  softness  of  manner  was  equalled 
only  by  his  stateliness.  He  flattered  every 
one— some  with  a  touch  of  fastidiousness,  others 
with  a  touch  of  respect ;  he  lavished  his  attentions 
upon  the  ladies, "'  en  vrai  chevalier  fran^ais"  and 
laughed  incessantly,  with  a  ringing,  isolated 
laugh,  as  was  befitting  a  dignitary.  He  slapped 
Arkady  on  the  back,  and  loudly  called  him  his 
"  dear  little  nephew  ":  conferred  upon  Bazaroff, 
who  was  dressed  in  a  rather  old  dress  suit,  a  pre- 
occupied but  condescending,  sidelong  glance 
across  his  cheek,  and  an  unintelligible  but  cour- 
teous bellow,  in  which  the  only  sounds  distinguish- 
able were  "  I  "  and  "  ss'ma  ";  gave  one  finger  to 
Sitnikoff,  and  smiled  at  him,  but  with  his  head 
already  turned  away ;  even  to  Madame  Kukshin, 
who  made  her  appearance  at  the  ball  without  any 

123 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

crinoline  whatever,  and  in  dirty  gloves,  but  with 
a  bird  of  paradise  in  her  hair, — even  to  Madame 
Kukshm  he  said  "  'Enchante."  There  was  a  mul- 
titude of  people,  and  of  cavaliers  there  was  no 
lack;  the  civilians  chiefly  congregated  along  the 
wall,  but  the  military  men  danced  assiduously, 
especially  one  of  them  who  had  spent  six  weeks 
in  Paris,  where  he  had  learned  divers  audacious 
exclamations,  such  as:  "Zui"  "Ah  fichtrrrej* 
"  Pst,  pstj,  mon  hibi"  and  so  forth.  He  pro- 
nounced them  to  perfection,  with  genuine  Pa- 
risian chic,  and,  at  the  same  time,  he  said  "si 
faurais  "  instead  of  "  si  j'avaisf'  "  absolument " 
in  the  sense  of  "without  fail";  in  a  word,  ex- 
pressed himself  in  that  Great  Russian-French 
dialect  at  which  the  French  laugh  so  heartily 
when  they  are  under  no  necessity  to  assure  us  that 
we  speak  their  language  like  angels — "  comme  des 
anges.'* 

Arkady  danced  badly,  as  we  already  know,  and 
BazarofF  did  not  dance  at  all:  both  of  them  en- 
sconced themselves  in  a  corner,  where  SitnikoiF 
joined  them.  With  a  sneering  smile  depicted  on 
his  face,  and  emitting  venomous  comments,  he 
stared  insolently  around,  and  seemed  to  be  gen- 
uinely enjoying  himself.  All  at  once,  his  face 
underwent  a  change,  and  turning  to  Arkady,  he 
said,  as  though  discomfited:  "  Madame  Odint- 
zoff  has  arrived." 

Arkady  looked  about  him,  and  descried  a  wo- 
124 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

man  of  lofty  stature,  in  a  black  gown,  who  was 
standing  at  the  door  of  the  hall.  She  impressed 
him  by  the  dignity  of  her  carriage.  Her  bare 
arms  hung  beautifully  along  her  stately  figure; 
hght  sprays  of  fuchsia  fell,  along  with  her  gleam- 
ing hair,  upon  her  sloping  shoulders;  her  bright 
eyes  gazed  calmly  and  intelHgently — that  was  ex- 
actly it,  calmly,  not  thoughtfully— from  beneath 
her  somewhat  overhanging  white  brow,  and  her 
hps  were  wreathed  in  a  barely  perceptible  smile. 
A  sort  of  soft,  caressing  force  emanated  from  her 
face. 

"  Do  you  know  her?  " — Arkady  asked  Sitni- 
koif. 

"  Intimately.  Would  you  like  to  have  me  in- 
troduce you?  " 

"  Pray  do  ...  .  after  this  quadrille." 

Bazaroff  also  turned  his  attention  to  Madame 
OdintzofF. 

"  What  sort  of  a  figure  is  that?  "—he  said.— 
"  She  does  not  resemble  the  other  women." 

Having  awaited  the  end  of  the  quadrille,  Sitni- 
kofF  led  Arkady  up  to  Madame  Odintzoff ;  but  he 
did  not  seem  to  be  intimately  acquainted  with  her, 
and  got  tangled  up  in  his  speech,  and  she  stared 
at  him  in  some  surprise.  But  her  face  assumed  a 
cordial  expression  when  she  heard  Arkady's  sur- 
name. She  asked  him  whether  he  was  not  the  son 
of  Nikolai  Petrovitch? 

"  Yes." 

125 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  have  seen  your  father  a  couple  of  times ;  and 
I  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  him,"— she  con- 
tinued;— "  I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  acquain- 
tance." 

At  that  moment,  some  adjutant  or  other  flew 
up  to  her,  and  invited  her  for  a  quadrille.  She 
accepted. 

"Do  you  dance?  "—asked  Arkady  respect- 
fully. 

"  Yes.  But  what  makes  you  think  that  I  do 
not?    Is  it  that  I  seem  to  you  too  old?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  how  can  you !  ...  In  that 
case,  permit  me  to  invite  you  for  the  mazurka." 

Madame  Odintzoff  smiled  graciously.  "  Very 
well," — she  said,  and  looked  at  Arkady,  not  ex- 
actly with  condescension,  but  as  married  sisters 
look  at  very  youthful  brothers.  Madame  Odin- 
tzoif  was  a  little  older  than  Arkady, — she  was 
nine-and-twenty,— but  in  her  presence  he  felt 
himself  a  school-boy,  a  student,  as  though  the  dif- 
ference of  years  between  them  were  much  greater. 
Matvyei  IHtch  approached  her  with  a  majestic 
mien  and  obsequious  speeches.  Arkady  stepped 
to  one  side,  but  continued  to  observe  her :  he  never 
took  his  eyes  from  her  during  the  entire  course  of 
the  quadriUe.  She  chatted  with  her  partner  as  un- 
constrainedly  as  with  the  dignitary;  she  moved 
her  head  and  eyes  softly,  and  laughed  softly  a 
couple  of  times.  Her  nose,  as  is  the  case  with 
most  Russians,  was  rather  thick,  and  her  com- 

126 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

plexion  was  not  perfectly  clear ;  notwithstanding 
this,  Arkady  made  up  his  mind  that  he  had  never 
yet  met  so  charming  a  woman.  The  sound  of  her 
voice  did  not  quit  his  ears;  it  seemed  as  though 
the  very  folds  of  her  gown  fell  differently  from 
those  of  other  women,  in  broader,  more  stately 
wise,  and  her  movements  were  particularly  flow- 
ing and  natural,  at  one  and  the  same  time. 

Arkady  felt  a  certain  timidity  at  heart  when, 
at  the  first  sounds  of  the  mazurka,^  he  seated  him- 
self by  the  side  of  his  lady,  and,  preparing  to 
enter  into  conversation,  merely  passed  his  hand 
over  his  hair,  and  could  find  not  a  single  word  to 
say.  But  he  did  not  remain  quaking  and  agitated 
long;  Madame  OdmtzofF's  composure  communi- 
cated itself  to  him :  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  not 
elapsed  before  he  was  telling  her  about  his  father, 
his  uncle,  life  in  Petersburg  and  in  the  country. 
Madame  OdintzofF  listened  to  him  with  polite  in- 
terest, Hghtly  opening  and  shutting  her  fan;  his 
chit-chat  ceased  when  cavaliers  led  her  out ;  Sitni- 
kofF,  among  others,  invited  her  twice.  She  re- 
turned, sat  down  again,  took  up  her  fan,  and  her 
bosom  did  not  even  heave  more  rapidly,  while  Ar- 
kady began  again  to  chatter,  all  permeated  with 
happiness  to  find  himself  near  her,  to  talk  with 
her,  gazing  into  her  eyes,  at  her  beautiful  brow, 
at  the  whole  of  her  lovely,  dignified,  and  clever 

1  The  mazurka  greatly  resembles  the  cotillon ;  but  differs  in  the 
animated,  graceful  step  peculiar  to  it,  and  its  spirited  abandon,  when 
properly  danced. — Translatob. 

127 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

countenance.  She  herself  talked  little,  but  know- 
ledge of  life  was  revealed  in  her  words ;  from  some 
of  her  remarks,  Arkady  inferred  that  this  young 
woman  had  already  succeeded  in  feeling  and 
thinking  a  great  deal.  ... 

"  Who  was  that  you  were  standing  with,"— 
she  asked  him, — "  when  Mr.  Sitnikoff  led  you  up 
tome?" 

"  Did  you  notice  him?  "—asked  Arkady  in  his 
turn.—"  He  has  a  splendid  face,  has  n't  he?  He 
is  a  certain  BazarofF,  my  friend." 

Arkady  began  to  talk  about  "  his  friend." 

He  talked  about  him  in  such  detail,  and  with 
such  enthusiasm,  that  Madame  OdintzofF  turned 
toward  him,  and  looked  attentively  at  him.  In 
the  meantime,  the  mazurka  was  drawing  to  its 
close.  Arkady  was  sorry  to  part  from  his  lady: 
he  had  passed  about  an  hour  so  pleasantly  with 
her!  To  tell  the  truth,  during  the  whole  course 
of  that  time  he  had  constantly  felt  as  though  she 
were  condescending  to  him,  as  though  he  ought  to 
be  grateful  to  her  .  .  .  but  young  hearts  are  not 
oppressed  by  that  feeling. 

The  music  stopped.  "  Merd,  ^^— said  Madame 
Odintzoif,  rising.—"  You  have  promised  to  call 
on  me:  bring  your  friend  with  you.  I  have  a 
great  curiosity  to  see  a  man  who  has  the  boldness 
not  to  believe  in  an3i;hing." 

The  Governor  approached  Madame  Odintzoff, 
announced  that  supper  was  ready,  and,  with  a 

128 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

careworn  countenance,  offered  her  his  arm.  As 
she  walked  away,  she  turned  round  to  bestow  a 
last  smile  and  nod  on  Arkady.  He  bowed  low, 
gazed  after  her  (how  slender  her  figure  seemed  to 
him,  bathed  in  the  greyish  lustre  of  the  black 
silk!) ,  and  thinking,  "  At  this  moment  she  has  al- 
ready forgotten  my  existence," — he  felt  in  his 
soul  a  sort  of  exquisite  submission.  .  .  . 

"  Well,  what  now?  " — Bazaroff  asked  Arkady, 
as  soon  as  the  latter  returned  to  him  in  his  corner. 
— "  Hast  thou  had  pleasure?  A  gentleman  has 
just  been  telling  me  that  that  lady — oi,  oi,  o'l;  but, 
apparently,  the  gentleman  is  a  fool.  Well,  and, 
in  thy  opinion,  what  is  she, — really  '  oi',  o'l,  oi' '?  " 

"  I  do  not  in  the  least  understand  that  defini- 
tion,"— replied  Arkady. 

"  The  idea!    What  innocence !  " 

"  In  that  case,  I  do  not  understand  your  gentle- 
man. Madame  Odintzoff  is  very  lovely,— that  is 
indisputable,— but  she  bears  herself  so  coldly  and 
strictly,  that " 

"Still  waters  .  .  .  thou  knowest!" — put  in 
Bazaroff.  "  Thou  say  est  she  is  cold.  That 's 
precisely  where  the  savour  comes  in.  Thou  art 
fond  of  ice-cream,  art  thou  not?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  starmnered  Arkady. — "  I  cannot 
judge  as  to  that.  She  wishes  to  make  thy  ac- 
quaintance, and  has  asked  me  to  bring  thee  to 
her." 

"  I  can  imagine  How  thou  hast  described  me  I 
129 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

However,  thou  hast  done  well.  Take  me.  What- 
ever  she  may  be,  a  simple  provincial  lioness,  or 
an  '  emandpee '  after  the  style  of  Madame  Kuk- 
shm,  I  have  not  seen  such  shoulders  as  hers  in  a 
long  time." 

Arkady  writhed  at  Bazaroff  *s  cynicism;  and,  as 
frequently  happens,  he  reproved  his  friend,  but 
not  for  the  precise  thing  which  he  did  not  like  in 
him.  .  .  . 

"  Why  art  not  thou  willing  to  admit  freedom 
of  thought  in  women? " — he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Because,  brother,  according  to  my  observa- 
tions, only  the  monsters  among  women  think 
freely." 

At  this  the  conversation  terminated.  Both 
young  men  went  away  immediately  after  supper. 
Madame  Kukshin  laughed  behind  their  backs,  in 
a  nervously-venomous  way,  but  not  without  trep- 
idation :  her  vanity  had  been  profoundly  wounded 
by  the  fact  that  neither  of  them  had  paid  her  any 
attention.  She  remained  later  than  any  one  else 
at  the  ball,  and  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning 
danced  the  polka-mazurka  with  Sitnikoff,  in  the 
Parisian  style.  And  with  this  edifying  spectacle 
the  gubernatorial  festival  wound  up. 


180 


XV 

"  Let  us  see  to  what  class  of  mammals  these 
persons  belong,"— said  Bazaroff  to  Arkady  on 
the  following  day,  as,  in  company  with  him,  he  as- 
cended the  stairs  of  the  hotel  in  which  Madame 
Odintzoff  was  stopping.—"  My  nose  scents  out 
that  everything  is  not  quite  as  it  should  be." 

"  I  am  amazed  at  thee!  "—exclaimed  Arkady. 
— "  What?  Thou,  thou,  Bazaroff,  art  wedded  to 
that  narrow  morality  which " 

"  What  a  queer  fellow  thou  art!  " — interrupted 
Bazaroff  carelessly. — "  Is  it  possible  that  thou 
dost  not  know  that  in  our  jargon,  and  with  the 
Hke  of  us,  *  not  quite  as  it  should  be  '  signifies  *  as 
it  should  be  '  ?  It  means  there  is  something  to  be 
gained  out  of  it.  Didst  not  thou  thyself  say  to- 
day that  she  had  married  strangely?— although, 
in  my  opinion,  to  marry  a  wealthy  old  man  is  not 
at  all  a  strange  affair,  but,  on  the  contrary,  sen- 
sible. I  do  not  believe  the  town  gossip ;  but  I  like 
to  think,  as  our  cultured  Governor  says,  that  it 
is  just." 

Arkady  made  no  reply  and  knocked  at  the  door 
of  the  room.  A  young  footman  in  livery  con- 
ducted both  friends  into  a  large  room,  badly  fur- 

Idl 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

nished,  like  all  rooms  in  Russian  hotels,  but  filled 
with  flowers.  Madame  OdintzofF  soon  made  her 
appearance  in  a  simple  morning  gown.  She 
seemed  still  younger,  in  the  light  of  the  spring 
sunshine.  Arkady  presented  Bazaroif  to  her,  and 
observed,  with  secret  surprise,  that  the  latter  ap- 
peared to  be  disconcerted,  while  Madame  Odin- 
tzoff  remained  perfectly  tranquil,  as  on  the  pre- 
ceding evening.  BazarofF  himself  felt  that  he 
was  confused,  and  he  grew  vexed.  "  There  thou 
goesti— thou  art  afraid  of  a  woman!"  he 
thought ;  and  lolling  in  an  arm-chair,  in  a  manner 
quite  equal  to  Sitnikoff"s,  he  began  to  talk  with 
exaggerated  freedom,  while  Madame  Odintzoff 
never  took  her  bright  eyes  off  him. 

Anna  Sergyeevna  OdintzofF  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Sergyei  Nikolaevitch  LoktefF,  a  famous 
beauty,  speculator,  and  gambler,  who,  after  hav- 
ing held  out  and  brawled  for  fifteen  years  in  Pe- 
tersburg and  Moscow,  had  ended  by  utterly  ruin- 
ing himself  at  cards,  and  being  compelled  to  settle 
down  in  the  country,  where,  however,  he  speedily 
died,  leaving  a  diminutive  property  to  his  two 
daughters,  Anna,  aged  twenty,  and  Katerma, 
aged  twelve  years.  Their  mother,  from  the  pov- 
erty-stricken race  of  the  Princes  X.  .  .  .  ,  had 
died  in  Petersburg  while  her  husband  was  still  in 
full  feather.  The  position  of  Anna,  after  her 
father's  death,  was  very  painful.  The  brilliant 
education  which  she  had  received  in  Petersburg 

132 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

had  not  prepared  her  for  the  endurance  of  cares 
connected  with  housekeeping  and  the  house, — for 
dull  country  life.  She  knew  positively  no  one  in 
the  whole  neighbourhood,  and  had  no  one  with 
whom  to  take  counsel.  Her  father  had  endeav- 
oured to  avoid  relations  with  the  neighbours;  he 
scorned  them  and  they  scorned  him,  each  after 
his  fashion.  But  she  did  not  lose  her  head,  and 
immediately  wrote  to  her  mother's  sister,  Princess 
Avdotya  Stepanovna  X.  .  .  .  ,  a  malicious  and 
conceited  old  woman,  who,  when  she  settled 
down  in  her  nieces'  house,  appropriated  to  herself 
the  best  rooms,  grumbled  and  growled  from 
morning  till  night,  and  never  walked,  even  in  the 
garden,  otherwise  than  attended  by  her  solitary 
serf,  a  surly  lackey  in  a  threadbare,  yellowish-grey 
livery,  with  blue  galloons  and  a  three-cornered 
hat.  Anna  patiently  endured  all  her  aunt's 
whims,  occupied  herself  somewhat  with  her  sis- 
ter's education,  and,  apparently,  had  already  rec- 
onciled herself  to  the  idea  of  withering  away  in 
the  wilds.  .  .  .  But  fate  decreed  differently  for 
her.  A  certain  Odintzoff  saw  her  by  accident,  a 
very  rich  man  of  six-and-f  orty,  an  eccentric,  a  hy- 
pochondriac, plump,  heavy,  and  sour,  but  not 
stupid,  and  not  bad-tempered ;  he  fell  in  love  with 
her,  and  offered  her  his  hand.  She  consented  to 
be  his  wife, — and  he  lived  with  her  six  years,  then 
died,  having  bequeathed  his  entire  property  to 
her.    Anna  Sergyeevna  did  not  leave  the  coun- 

183 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

try  at  all,  for  about  a  year  after  his  death;  then 
she  and  her  sister  went  abroad,  but  sojourned  only 
in  Germany:  she  was  bored,  and  returned  to  re- 
side in  her  beloved  Nikolskoe,  which  was  situated 
about  forty  versts  from  the  town  of  *  *  *.  There 
she  had  a  magnificent,  well-furnished  house,  and 
a  beautiful  park,  with  hothouses:  the  late  Odin- 
tzoff  had  denied  himself  nothing.  Anna  Ser- 
gyeevna  very  rarely  made  her  appearance  in 
town,  and  then  chiefly  on  business,  and  that  not 
for  long.  She  was  not  liked  in  the  Government; 
there  had  been  a  great  outcry  over  her  marriage 
with  Odmtzoif ;  all  sorts  of  idle  tales  were  nar- 
rated about  her :  it  was  asserted  that  she  had  aided 
her  father  in  his  cheating  scrapes,  that  she  had 
not  gone  abroad  without  a  cause,  compelled 
thereto  to  conceal  the  unfortunate  consequences 
.  .  .  .  "You  understand  of  what?"— the  in- 
dignant narrators  were  wont  to  wind  up. — 
*'  She  has  been  through  fire  and  water,"  they 
said  of  her;  and  the  familiar  governmental  wit 
generally  added :  "  and  through  brass  trumpets." 
All  these  comments  reached  her ;  but  she  let  them 
pass:  she  had  a  free  and  rather  decided 
character. 

Madame  Odintzoff  sat,  leaning  against  the 
back  of  her  arm-chair,  and,  clasping  her  hands, 
she  listened  to  BazaroiF.  Contrary  to  his  wont,  he 
talked  a  good  deal,  and  evidently  made  efforts  to 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

interest  his  interlocutor,  which  again  surprised 
Arkady.  He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether 
Bazaroif  was  attaining  his  object  or  not.  It  was 
difficult  to  divine  from  Anna  Sergyeevna's  face 
what  impressions  she  was  receiving:  it  preserved 
one  and  the  same  expression,  courteous,  refined; 
her  beautiful  eyes  beamed  with  attention,  but  un- 
perturbed attention.  BazarofF's  airs  during  the 
first  moments  of  his  visit  had  acted  unpleasantly 
on  her,  like  a  bad  smell  or  a  harsh  sound ;  but  she 
immediately  comprehended  that  he  was  suffering 
from  confusion,  and  this  was  even  flattering  to 
her.  Only  the  commonplace  repelled  her,  and  no 
one  could  have  accused  Bazaroff  of  being  com- 
monplace. It  was  Arkady's  fate  to  be  kept  in  a 
constant  state  of  wonderment  on  that  day.  He 
had  anticipated  that  Bazaroff  would  talk  to  Mad- 
ame Odintzoff,  as  she  was  a  clever  woman  of  his 
convictions  and  views :  she  herself  had  expressed  a 
desire  to  listen  to  a  man  "  who  has  the  audacity  to 
believe  in  nothing";  but,  instead  of  that,  Bazaroff 
talked  of  medicine,  of  homoeopathy,  of  botany. 
It  turned  out  that  Madame  Odintzoff  had  not 
wasted  her  time  in  her  isolation :  she  had  read  sev- 
eral good  books,  and  expressed  herself  in  correct 
Russian.  She  turned  the  conversation  on  music, 
but  perceiving  that  Bazaroff  did  not  recognise 
art,  she  quietly  returned  to  botany,  although  Ar- 
kady had  started  in  to  discuss  the  significance  of 

185 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

popular  melodies.  Madame  Odintzoff  continued 
to  treat  him  like  a  younger  brother;  apparently, 
she  prized  in  him  the  goodness  and  simple-mind- 
edness of  youth — and  that  was  all.  The  conver- 
sation lasted  more  than  three  hours,  leisurely, 
varied,  and  animated. 

At  last  the  friends  rose  and  began  to  take  leave. 
Anna  Sergyeevna  gazed  cordially  at  them,  of- 
fered each  of  them  her  beautiful,  white  hand,  and, 
after  brief  reflection,  she  said,  with  a  decided  but 
agreeable  smile: — "  If  you  are  not  afraid  of 
being  bored,  gentlemen,  come  to  visit  me  at 
Nikolskoe." 

"  Really,  Anna  Sergyeevna," — exclaimed  Ar- 
kady,—" I  shall  regard  it  as  a  special  happi- 
ness. .  .  ." 

"  And  you,  Monsieur  Bazaroff  ?  " 

Bazaroff  merely  bowed, — and  Arkady  was 
obliged,  for  the  last  time,  to  marvel:  he  had  ob- 
served that  his  friend  was  blushing. 

"  Well?  "—said  he  to  him  in  the  street: — *'  art 
thou  still  of  the  same  opinion,  that  she  is — '  oi, 
01,01'?" 

"  Who  knows!  Thou  seest  how  she  froze  her- 
self!"— retorted  Bazaroff,  and,  after  a  pause, 
he  added: — "A  duchess,  a  reigning  personage. 
All  she  needs  is  to  wear  a  train  behind  her  and  a 
crown  on  her  head." 

"  Our  duchesses  do  not  speak  Russian  like 
that," — remarked  Arkady. 

13Q 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  She  has  been  made  over,  my  dear  fellow;  she 
has  eaten  our  bread." 

"  And,  nevertheless,  she  is  charming," — said 
Arkady. 

"  Such  a  rich  body!" — went  on  Bazaroff: — 
"  she  might  go  straight  into  the  anatomical 
theatre." 

"  Stop,  for  God's  sake,  Evgeny!  Who  ever 
heard  the  like!" 

"  Well,  don't  get  angry,  softy.  I  have  said  it 
— she  's  first  class.    We  must  go  to  her  house." 

"  When? " 

"  Why,  suppose  we  make  it  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. What  is  there  for  us  to  do  here !  Drink 
champagne  with  Madame  Kukshin?  Listen  to 
thy  relative,  the  liberal  big-wig?  So  let 's  flit  out 
there  the  day  after  to-morrow.  By  the  way,  too, 
my  father's  little  manor-house  is  not  far  from 
there.  That  Nikolskoe  is  on  the  *  *  *  road, 
is  n't  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Optime.  There's  no  use  in  hesitating ;  only 
fools  hesitate— and  wise  men.  I  tell  thee:  't  is  a 
rich  body! " 

Three  days  later,  both  friends  were  driving 
along  the  road  to  Nikolskoe.  The  day  was  bright, 
and  not  too  hot,  and  the  fat  posting-horses  trotted 
briskly,  slightly  twitching  their  twisted  and 
plaited  tails.  Arkady  gazed  at  the  road,  and 
smiled,  without  himself  knowing  why. 

137 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Congratulate  me,"— exclaimed  Bazaroff  sud- 
denly,—" to-day  is  the  twenty-second  of  June, 
the  day  of  my  guardian  angel.  Let  us  see  how 
he  takes  care  of  me.  They  are  expecting  me  at 
home  to-day,"  he  added,  lowering  his  voice.  .  .  . 
"  Well,  let  them  wait;  it's  of  no  great  impor- 
tance!" 


188 


XVI 

The  manor-house  in  which  dwelt  Anna  Ser- 
gyeevna  stood  on  a  sloping,  open  hill,  not  far  from 
a  yellow  stone  church  with  a  green  roof,  white 
pillars,  and  an  al  fresco  painting  over  the  prin- 
cipal entrance,  representing  the  "  Resurrection 
of  Christ,"  in  the  "  ItaHan  "  taste.  Especially 
noteworthy  for  his  rounded  contours  was  a 
swarthy  warrior,  in  a  short  jacket,  who  sprawled 
over  the  foreground.  Behind  the  church,  in  two 
long  rows,  extended  the  village,  with  chimneys 
peeping  above  the  straw  thatches  here  and  there. 
The  manor-house  was  spacious,  in  the  same  style 
with  the  church — the  style  which  is  known  among 
us  by  the  name  of  the  Alexandrine ;  this  house  also 
was  painted  yellow,  and  had  a  green  roof  and 
white  pillars,  and  a  pediment  with  a  coat  of  arms. 
The  governmental  architect  had  erected  both 
buildings,  with  the  approbation  of  the  deceased 
Odintzoff,  who  could  not  tolerate  any  empty  and 
new-fangled  caprices,  as  he  expressed  it.  Close 
to  the  house  on  both  sides  lay  the  dusky  trees  of 
the  ancient  park;  an  avenue  of  clipped  firs  led 
to  the  entrance. 

Our  friends  were  received  in  the  anteroom  by 
139 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

two  robust  footmen  in  livery ;  one  of  them  imme- 
diately ran  for  the  butler.  The  butler,  a  fat  man 
in  a  black  dress-coat,  immediately  presented  him- 
self, and  directed  the  guests  over  the  rug-covered 
staircase  to  a  special  room,  where  already  stood 
two  beds,  with  all  the  accessories  of  the  toilet.  It 
was  evident  that  order  reigned  in  the  house: 
everything  was  clean,  and  there  was  some  agree- 
able perfume  everywhere  about,  just  as  in  minis- 
terial receptions. 

"  Anna  Sergyeevna  begs  that  you  will  come 
to  her  in  half  an  hour," — announced  the  but- 
ler:— "  have  you  no  orders  to  give  in  the  mean- 
while? " 

"  We  have  no  orders,  my  most  respected," — re- 
phed  Bazaroff : — "  unless  you  will  be  so  good  as 
to  bring  a  glass  of  vodka." 

"  I  obey,  sir,"— said  the  butler,  not  without  sur- 
prise, and  retired,  with  squeaking  boots. 

"What  grand  genre!''— TGmsLTked  Bazaroff: 
— "  I  believe  that  is  what  it  is  called  in  your  lan- 
guage? A  duchess,  and  that 's  all  there  is 
about  it." 

"A  good  duchess,"— replied  Arkady;— "the 
very  first  time  she  met  such  mighty  aristocrats  as 
thou  and  I,  she  invited  us  to  her  house." 

"  Especially  I,  who  am  a  medical  man,  the  son 
of  a  medical  man,  the  grandson  of  a  chanter.  .  .  . 
Of  course  thou  knewest  that  I  am  the  grandson 
of  a  chanter? " 

140 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Like  Speransky,"  ^— added  Bazaroff,  after  a 
brief  silence  and  curling  his  lips.  "  But  she  has 
indulged  herself,  all  the  same ;  okh,  how  this  lady 
has  indulged  herself.  Ought  not  we  to  don  our 
dress-suits? " 

Arkady  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders;  .  .  . 
but  he,  too,  felt  some  agitation. 

Half  an  hour  later  Bazaroff  and  Arkady  en- 
tered the  drawing-room.  It  was  a  spacious,  lofty 
room,  furnished  with  considerable  luxury,  but 
without  any  particular  taste.  The  heavy,  costly 
furniture  stood  in  the  customary  aflFected  order 
along  the  walls,  which  were  covered  with  light- 
brown  paper  with  gilded  flowers.  Odmtzoif  had 
ordered  it  from  Moscow  through  his  friend  and 
commissioner,  a  liquor  dealer.  Over  the  central 
divan  hung  the  portrait  of  a  shrivelled,  fair-haired 
man, — and  it  seemed  to  be  staring  at  the  visitors 
in  a  hostile  manner.  "It  must  be  he,"  whispered 
Bazaroff,  and  wrinkling  up  his  nose,  he  added, 
"  Shan't  we  decamp?  " 

But  at  that  moment  the  hostess  entered.  She 
wore  a  light  barege  gown;  her  hair,  brushed 
smoothly  behind  her  ears,  imparted  a  virginal  ex- 
pression to  her  pure,  fresh  face. 

"  Thank  you  for  having  kept  your  word,"— she 
began; — "  stay  a  while  with  me:  it  really  is  not 
bad  here.    I  will  introduce  you  to  my  sister ;  she 

1  Speransky  rose  to  be  a  Count,  and  a  Minister  of 
Alexander  I. — ^TRANstAXOR. 

141 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

plays  well  on  the  piano.  That  makes  no  differ- 
ence to  you,  M'sieu  Bazaroff ;  but  I  think  you  are 
fond  of  music,  M'sieu  Kirsanoff ;  in  addition  to 
my  sister,  my  old  aunt  lives  with  me,  and  a  neigh- 
bour sometimes  drops  in  to  play  cards :  that  is  our 
entire  society.    But  now  let  us  sit  down." 

Madame  OdintzofF  uttered  this  little  speech 
with  peculiar  distinctness,  as  though  she  had  com- 
mitted it  to  memory;  then  she  turned  to  Arkady. 
It  appeared  that  her  mother  had  known  Arkady's 
mother,  and  had  even  been  the  confidante  of  her 
love  for  Nikolai  Petrovitch.  Arkady  began  to 
talk  with  fervour  about  the  dead  woman;  and,  in 
the  meantime,  Bazaroif  occupied  himself  with  in- 
specting the  albums.  "  What  a  meek  individual 
I  have  become,"  he  said  to  himself. 

A  handsome  greyhound,  with  a  blue  collar,  ran 
into  the  drawing-room,  clattering  his  claws  on  the 
floor,  and  after  him  entered  a  young  girl  of  eigh- 
teen, with  black  hair  and  brown  complexion,  a 
rather  chubby  but  pleasing  face,  and  small  dark 
eyes.  She  held  in  her  hand  a  basket  filled  with 
flowers.  "  Here  is  my  Katya,"  said  Madame 
Odintzoff',  indicating  her  by  a  movement  of  the 
head. 

Katya  made  a  slight  curtsey,  placed  herself  be- 
side her  sister,  and  began  to  sort  over  her  flowers. 
The  greyhound,  whose  name  was  Fifi,  approached 
each  visitor  in  turn,  wagging  his  tail,  and  thrust 
his  cold  nose  into  the  hand  of  each  of  them. 

142 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Didst  thou  pluck  all  those  thyself?  "—asked 
Madame  Odintzoff . 

"  Yes," — replied  Katya. 

"  And  is  aunty  coming  to  tea?  " 

"  Yes." 

When  Katya  spoke  she  smiled  very  prettily, 
bashfully,  and  candidly,  and  looked  upwards  from 
below  in  a  comically-grim  manner.  Everything 
about  her  was  still  extremely  youthful :  her  voice, 
and  the  fine  down  all  over  her  face,  and  her  rosy 
hands,  with  whitish  circles  on  the  palms,  and  her 
rather  cramped  shoulders.  .  .  She  was  inces- 
santly blushing  and  hastily  catching  her  breath. 

Madame  Odintzoff  turned  to  Bazaroff. — 
"  You  are  looking  at  those  pictures  out  of  polite- 
ness, Evgeny  Vasilitch," — she  began. — "  They  do 
not  interest  you.  You  had  better  move  up  nearer 
us,  and  we  will  get  into  an  argument  over  some- 
thing or  other." 

Bazaroff  approached. — *'  What  shall  we  argue 
about?  " — he  said. 

"  About  anything  you  like.  I  warn  you  that 
I  am  a  frightfully  quarrelsome  person." 

"You?" 

"  Yes,  I.    That  seems  to  surprise  you.    Why?  " 

"  Because,  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  you  have  a 
calm  and  cold  nature,  and  for  dispute  enthusiasm 
is  necessary." 

"  How  is  it  that  you  have  succeeded  in  finding 
me  out  so  promptly?    In  the  first  place,  I  am  im- 

143 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

patient  and  persistent:  ask  Katya  if  I  am  not; 
and,  in  the  second  place,  I  am  very  easily  aroused 
to  enthusiasm." 

Bazaroff  looked  at  Anna  Sergyeevna. — "  Per- 
haps you  ought  to  know  best.  So  you  would  like 
to  dispute, — very  well.  I  have  been  looking  over 
the  views  of  the  Saxon  Switzerland  in  your 
album,  and  you  have  remarked  to  me  that  that 
could  not  interest  me.  You  said  that  because  you 
do  not  suspect  me  of  having  artistic  sense, — and, 
is  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  not ;  but  I  might  take 
an  interest  in  those  pictures  from  a  geological 
point  of  view — from  the  point  of  view  of  the  for- 
mation of  mountains,  for  example." 

"  Excuse  me;  as  a  geologist  you  would  be  more 
likely  to  have  recourse  to  a  book,  to  a  special  work, 
and  not  to  a  drawing." 

"  The  drawing  presents  to  me  at  a  glance 
that  which  in  the  book  is  set  forth  in  ten  whole 
pages." 

Anna  Sergyeevna  was  silent  for  a  while. 

"  And  have  you  really  not  a  tiny  drop  of  artis- 
tic sense?  " — she  said,  setting  her  elbows  on  the 
table,  and  by  that  very  movement  bringing  her 
face  closer  to  Bazaroff. — "  How  do  you  get  along 
without  it?" 

"  What  is  the  use  of  it,  permit  me  to  inquire?  " 

"  Why,  if  for  nothing  else,  that  one  may  learn 
how  to  understand  and  study  people." 

Bazaroff  laughed. — "  In  the  first  place,  the  ex- 
144 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

perience  of  life  exists  for  that  purpose;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  I  must  inform  you  that  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  study  separate  individuals.  All 
people  resemble  one  another,  in  soul  as  in  body; 
each  one  of  us  has  brain,  spleen,  heart,  lungs,  of 
identical  structure ;  and  the  so-called  moral  quali- 
ties are  exactly  alike  in  all:  the  slight  difference 
of  aspect  signifies  nothing.  One  specimen  of  hu- 
manity is  sufficient  to  enable  us  to  judge  of  all  the 
rest.  Men  are  like  the  trees  in  a  forest — not  a 
single  botanist  will  busy  himself  with  each  sepa- 
rate birch." 

Katya,  who  was  matching  flower  to  flower  in 
a  leisurely  way,  raised  her  eyes  to  Bazaroff*  in  sur- 
prise,— and  encountering  his  swift  and  careless 
glance,  flushed  crimson  to  her  very  ears.  Anna 
Sergyeevna  shook  her  head. 

"  The  trees  in  the  forest," — she  repeated. — 
"  So,  according  to  you,  there  is  no  difference  be- 
tween a  stupid  and  a  clever  man,  between  a  good 
one  and  a  bad  one." 

''  Yes,  there  is :  as  there  is  between  a  well  man 
and  a  sick  one.  The  lungs  of  the  consumptive 
are  not  in  the  same  conditions  as  yours  and  mine 
are,  although  they  are  constructed  in  the  same 
manner.  We  know,  approximately,  whence  come 
bodily  ailments ;  but  moral  ailments  proceed  from 
a  bad  education,  from  all  sorts  of  nonsense  with 
which  people's  heads  are  stuffed  from  their  in- 
fancy, from  the  abnormal  condition  of  society — in 

145 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

a  word,  reform  society,  and  there  will  be  no  dis- 
ease." 

Bazaroff  said  all  this  with  an  aspect  which 
seemed  to  indicate  that,  at  the  same  time,  he  was 
saying  to  himself:  "  Whether  you  believe  me  or 
not,  it 's  all  one  to  me !  "  He  slowly  drew  his  long 
fingers  through  his  side-whiskers  and  his  eyes 
wandered  about  the  corners  of  the  room. 

"  And  you  assume,"— said  Anna  Sergyeevna, 
— "  that  when  society  shall  have  been  reformed 
there  will  be  no  more  stupid,  no  more  wicked, 
men?" 

"At  all  events,  with  a  regular  arrangement 
of  society,  it  will  not  matter  whether  a  man  is 
stupid  or  clever,  wicked  or  good." 

"Yes,  I  understand;  all  will  have  identically 
the  same  spleen." 

"  Precisely  that,  madam." 

Madame  OdintzofF  turned  to  Arkady.—"  And 
what  is  your  opinion,  Arkady  Nikolaevitch?  " 

"  I  agree  with  Evgeny,"— he  replied. 

Katya  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  him. 
,  "  You  amaze  me,  gentlemen," — said  Madame 
Odintzoff; — "but  we  will  discuss  this  later  on. 
And  now  I  hear  my  aunt  coming  to  drink  tea;  we 
must  spare  her  ears." 

Anna  Sergyeevna's  aunt,  Princess  X  .  .  .  ,  a 
thin,  small  woman,  with  a  face  about  the  size  of 
one's  fist,  and  staring,  malicious  eyes  beneath  her 
grey  wig,  entered,  and  hardly  saluting  the  visitors, 

146 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

dropped  down  in  a  capacious  velvet  arm-chair,  in 
which  no  one  except  herself  had  a  right  to  sit. 
Katya  placed  a  stool  under  her  feet;  the  old 
woman  did  not  thank  her,  did  not  even  look  at 
her,  only  moved  her  hands  about  under  the  yeUow 
shawl,  which  covered  almost  the  whole  of  her 
puny  body.  The  Princess  loved  yellow:  she  also 
had  bright  yellow  ribbons  on  her  cap. 

"  How  have  you  slept,  aunty?  " — asked  Ma- 
dame Odintzoff ,  lowering  her  voice. 

"  There  's  that  dog  here  again,"— growled  the 
old  woman  in  response;  and  noticing  that  Fifi 
took  a  couple  of  undecided  steps  in  her  direction, 
she  cried  out:  "  Scat!  scat!  " 

Katya  called  Fifi,  and  opened  the  door  for  him. 

Fifi  rushed  joyously  forth,  in  the  hope  that 
he  would  be  taken  for  a  walk,  but  on  finding  him- 
self alone  outside  the  door,  began  to  scratch  and 
whine.  The  Princess  frowned.  Katya  started  to 
go  out.  .  .  . 

"Tea  is  ready,  I  think?"— said  Madame 
Odintzoff. — "Come,  gentlemen;  aunty,  please 
come  and  drink  tea." 

The  Princess  rose  in  silence  from  her  chair  and 
left  the  drawing-room  first.  All  followed  her  to 
the  dining-room.  A  page-boy  in  livery  noisily 
moved  away  from  the  table  a  chair  garnished  with 
piUows,  also  sacred  to  her  use,  in  which  the  Prin- 
cess seated  herself;  Katya,  when  she  poured  the 
tea,  served  her  first  in  a  cup  with  a  painted  coat 

147 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

of  arms.  The  old  woman  put  honey  in  her  cup 
(she  thought  it  sinful  to  drink  tea  with  sugar,* 
and  expensive,  although  she  herself  did  not  spend 
a  farthing  on  this),  and  suddenly  inquired,  in  a 
hoarse  voice:  "And  what  does  Prance  Ivan 
write? " 

No  one  answered  her.  Bazaroff  and  Arkady 
speedily  divined  that  no  one  paid  any  attention  to 
her,  although  they  treated  her  respectfully.  "  For 
the  sake  of  maintaining  their  dignity,  because  she 
is  a  princely  sprig,"  thought  BazarofF.  .  .  After 
tea  Anna  Sergyeevna  suggested  that  they  should 
go  for  a  stroll,  but  a  fine  rain  began  to  fall,  and 
the  whole  company,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Princess,  returned  to  the  drawing-room.  The 
neighbour  who  was  fond  of  cards,  by  name  Por- 
firy  Platonitch,  arrived, — a  fat,  grey -haired  man, 
with  short  legs,  which  looked  just  as  though  they 
had  been  turned  in  a  lathe,  a  very  pohte  and 
entertaining  person.  Anna  Sergyeevna,  who  had 
been  chatting  principally  with  BazarofF,  asked 
him  whether  he  would  not  like  to  have  an  old-fash- 
ioned battle  at  preference  with  him.  Bazaroff 
consented,  saying  that  he  must  prepare  himself 
in  advance  for  the  duties  of  a  country  doctor 
which  awaited  him. 

"  Take  care,"— remarked  Anna  Sergyeevna,— 

^  Probably,  on  the  same  ground  that  the  devout  do  not  use  sugar 
during  the  Church  fasts,  viz.,  because  it  is  clarified  with  blood — ^an 
animal  substance. — Tbanslatob. 

148 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Porfiry  Platonitch  and  I  shall  beat  you.  And 
do  thou,  Katya," — she  added, — "  play  something 
for  Arkady  Nikolaevitch ;  he  is  fond  of  music, 
and  we  will  listen  also." 

Katya  went  unwillingly  to  the  piano ;  and  Ar- 
kady, although  he  really  was  fond  of  music,  un- 
willingly followed  her :  it  seemed  to  him  that  Ma- 
dame OdintzofF  was  sending  him  away, — and  in 
his  heart,  as  in  the  heart  of  every  young  man  of 
his  age,  there  was  seething  an  agitated  and  op- 
pressive feeling,  resembling  a  presentiment  of 
love.  Katya  raised  the  lid  of  the  piano,  and, 
without  looking  at  Arkady,  said  in  an  undertone : 

"  What  shall  I  play  for  you?  " 

"  Whatever  you  like,"— replied  Arkady  indif- 
ferently. 

"  What  sort  of  music  do  you  prefer? " — re- 
peated Katya,  without  changing  her  position. 

"  Classical,"— replied  Arkady,  in  the  same 
tone. 

"Do  you  like  Mozart?" 

"  Yes." 

Katya  got  Mozart's  Sonata-Fantasia  in  C 
minor.  She  played  very  well,  although  rather  se- 
verely and  dryly.  She  sat  motionless  and  stiff, 
never  taking  her  eyes  from  her  notes,  and  with 
lips  tightly  compressed,  and  only  toward  the  end 
of  the  sonata  did  her  face  grow  flushed,  and  a  lit- 
tle strand  of  uncurled  hair  fall  on  her  forehead. 

Arkady  was  particularly  struck  by  the  last 
149 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

part  of  the  sonata— by  that  part  in  which,  through 
the  enchanting  mirth  of  the  care-free  melody, 
bursts  of  such  mournful,  almost  tragic  woe,  sud- 
denly penetrate.  .  .  But  the  thoughts  evoked  in 
him  by  the  strains  of  Mozart  did  not  refer  to 
Katya.  As  he  gazed  at  her  he  merely  thought: 
"  Really,  this  young  lady  does  not  play  badly,  and 
she  herself  is  not  bad-looking." 

When  she  had  finished  the  sonata  Katya  in- 
quired, without  removing  her  hands  from  the 
keys,  "  Is  that  enough?  "  Arkady  declared  that  he 
did  not  dare  to  inconvenience  her  further,  and  be- 
gan to  talk  to  her  about  Mozart;  he  asked  her 
whether  she  had  chosen  that  sonata  herself,  or  had 
some  one  recommended  it  to  her?  But  Katya  an- 
swered him  in  monosyllables :  she  had  hidden  her- 
self ,  retreated  into  herself.  When  that  happened 
with  her  she  did  not  speedily  come  to  the  surface ; 
at  such  times  her  very  face  assumed  an  obstinate, 
almost  stupid  expression.  She  was  not  precisely 
shy,  but  distrustful  and  rather  terrified  by  her 
sister,  who  had  reared  her,  which  the  latter,  of 
course,  did  not  even  suspect.  Arkady  ended  by 
calling  up  Fifi,  who  had  returned,  and,  by  way  of 
keeping  himself  in  countenance,  began  to  stroke 
his  head,  smiling  benevolently.  Katya  betook 
herself  again  to  her  flowers. 

And,  in  the  meantime,  Bazaroff  kept  losing 
and  losing.  Anna  Sergyeevna  played  a  masterly 
hand  at  cards;  Porfiry  Platonitch  also  could 

150 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

stand  up  for  himself.  BazarofF  was  the  loser, 
and  although  not  to  any  considerable  extent,  yet 
it  was  not  altogether  pleasant  for  him.  After 
supper  Anna  Sergyeevna  turned  the  conversation 
upon  botany  again. 

"  Let  us  go  for  a  walk  to-morrow  morning," — 
she  said  to  him; — "  I  wish  to  learn  from  you  the 
Latin  names  of  the  field-plants  and  their  proper- 
ties." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  the  Latin  names? " 
— asked  Bazar  off. 

"  One  must  have  order  in  everything,"— she  re- 
pUed. 

"  What  a  marvellous  woman  Anna  Sergye- 
evna is," — exclaimed  Arkady,  when  he  was 
alone  with  his  friend  in  the  chamber  assigned  to 
them. 

"  Yes,"— rephed  BazaroiF,— "  a  woman  with  a 
brain.    Well,  and  she  has  seen  sights." 

"  In  what  sense  dost  thou  say  that,  Evgeny 
Vasilitch? " 

"  In  a  good  sense,  a  good  sense,  my  dear  Ar- 
kady Nikolaevitch !  I  am  convinced  that  she 
manages  her  estate  excellently.  But  the  marvel 
is  not  she,  but  her  sister." 

"  What?     That  brown-faced  little  thing?  " 

"  Yes,  that  brown-faced  little  thing.  She 's 
fresh,  and  unsullied,  and  timid,  and  taciturn,  and 
anything  you  like.  That 's  a  person  one  can  get 
interested  in.    You  can  make  of  her  anything  you 

151 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

take  it  into  your  head  to  make;  but  the  other — is 
a  shrewd  creature." 

Arkady  made  no  reply  to  Bazaroff,  and  both 
of  them  lay  down  to  sleep  with  special  thoughts 
in  their  heads. 

And  Anna  Sergyeevna  on  that  same  evening 
was  thinking  of  her  guests.  She  liked  BazarofF 
— his  absence  of  coquetry  and  the  very  harshness 
of  his  judgments.  She  discerned  in  him  some- 
thing new  which  she  had  not  hitherto  chanced  to 
encounter,  and  she  was  curious. 

Anna  Sergyeevna  was  rather  a  strange  being. 
Devoid  of  prejudices,  devoid  even  of  any  strong 
beliefs,  she  yielded  to  no  one  and  followed  no  one. 
She  saw  much  clearly,  much  interested  her,  and 
nothing  completely  satisfied  her;  and  complete 
satisfaction  was  hardly  what  she  wanted.  Her 
mind  was  inquisitive  and  indifferent  at  one  and 
the  same  time :  her  doubts  were  never  appeased  to 
forgetfulness  and  never  increased  to  alarm.  Had 
she  not  been  wealthy  and  independent,  she  might 
possibly  have  flung  herself  into  the  fray  and  have 
known  passion.  .  .  But  life  was  easy  for  her,  al- 
though she  was  sometimes  bored;  she  continued 
to  pass  day  after  day  in  a  leisurely  man- 
ner, only  growing  agitated  now  and  then.  Rain- 
bow hues  sometimes  flashed  up  before  her  eyes 
also,  but  she  breathed  more  freely  when  they  had 
faded  away,  and  she  did  not  regret  them.  Her 
imagination  carried  her  even  beyond  the  bounds 

152 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

of  that  which,  according  to  the  ordinary  laws  of 
morahty,  is  considered  permissible ;  but  even  then 
her  blood  flowed  as  quietly  as  ever  in  her  entranc- 
ingly-stately  and  tranquil  body.  There  were 
times  when,  on  emerging  from  a  perfumed  bath, 
all  warm  and  enervated,  she  took  to  meditating 
upon  the  insignificance  of  life,  its  woe,  toil  and 
evil.  .  .  Her  soul  would  be  filled  with  sudden  au- 
dacity, would  seethe  with  noble  aspiration;  but 
let  a  draught  blow  through  the  half -open 
window  and  Anna  Sergyeevna  would  shrink  to- 
gether, and  complain  and  almost  wax  angry,  and 
she  wanted  only  one  thing  at  such  moments: 
that  that  hateful  wind  should  not  blow  upon 
her. 

Like  all  women  who  have  not  managed  to  fall 
in  love,  she  wanted  something — precisely  what  she 
did  not  know.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  wanted 
nothing,  although  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  wanted 
everything.  She  had  barely  tolerated  the  late 
Odintzoff^  (she  had  married  him  from  calculation, 
although,  in  all  probability,  she  would  not  have 
consented  to  be  his  wife  if  she  had  not  regarded 
him  as  a  kind  man) ,  and  had  acquired  a  secret  dis- 
gust for  all  men,  whom  she  pictured  to  herself  as 
dirty,  heavy  and  indolent,  impotently  tiresome 
beings.  Once,  somewhere  abroad,  she  had  met  a 
young  man,  a  handsome  Swede,  with  a  knightly 
expression  of  countenance,  with  honest  blue  eyes 
beneath  an  open  brow ;  he  had  made  a  strong  im- 

153 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

pression  upon  her,  but  this  had  not  prevented  hei 
returning  to  Russia. 

*'A  strange  man,  that  doctor!"  she  thought, 
as  she  lay  down  in  her  magnificent  bed  on  her  lace 
pillows  under  a  light  silken  coverlet.  .  .  .  Anna 
Ser^j^^eevna  had  inherited  from  her  father  a  por- 
tion of  his  inclination  for  luxury.  She  had  been 
very  fond  of  her  sinful  but  kind  father,  and  he 
had  idolised  her,  had  jested  with  her  in  friendly 
wise  as  with  an  equal,  and  had  trusted  her  utterly 
— had  taken  counsel  with  her.  She  hardly  remem- 
bered her  mother. 

"  That  doctor  is  a  strange  fellow!  "  she  re- 
peated to  herself.  She  stretched  herself,  smiled, 
threw  her  arms  behind  her  head,  then  ran  her  eyes 
over  the  pages  of  a  couple  of  dull  French  ro- 
mances— and  fell  asleep,  all  pure  and  cold,  in  her 
clean  and  perfumed  linen. 

On  the  following  morning  Anna  Sergyeevna, 
immediately  after  breakfast,  went  off  to  botanise 
with  BazarofF,  and  returned  home  just  before  din- 
ner; Arkady  did  not  go  off  anywhere,  and  spent 
about  an  hour  with  Katya.  He  did  not  find  him- 
self bored  in  her  society;  she  offered  of  her  own 
accord  to  repeat  for  him  the  sonata  she  had  played 
on  the  day  before;  but  when,  at  last,  Madame 
OdintzofF  returned,  when  he  beheld  her— his 
heart  instantly  contracted  within  him.  .  .  .  She 
was  walking  through  the  garden  with  a  some- 
what fatigued  step;  her  cheeks  were  of  a  vivid 

154 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

scarlet,  and  her  eyes  were  shining  more  brilliantly 
than  usual  beneath  her  round  straw  hat.  She  was 
twirling  in  her  fingers  the  slender  stem  of  a  wild 
flower,  her  light  mantilla  had  sHpped  down  to  her 
elbows,  and  the  broad  grey  ribbons  of  her  hat 
clung  closely  to  her  bosom.  BazarofF  was  walk- 
ing behind  her  in  a  self-confident,  careless  way, 
as  always,  but  the  expression  of  his  face,  although 
it  was  cheerful  and  even  bland,  did  not  please 
Arkady.  Muttering  through  his  teeth,  "  Good 
morning!  " — Bazaroff  went  off  to  his  room,  and 
Madame  Odintzoff  shook  hands  with  Arkady  in 
a  preoccupied  way,  and  also  walked  on  past  him. 
"  Good  morning,"  —  thought  Arkady.  .  .  . 
"  But  have  we  not  seen  each  other  already  to- 
day?" 


155 


XVII 

It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  time  sometimes  flies  like 
a  bird,  Sometimes  crawls  like  a  worm;  but  a  man 
is  particularly  happy  when  he  does  not  notice 
whether  it  is  passing  swiftly  or  slowly.  In  pre- 
cisely this  manner  did  Arkady  and  BazarofF 
spend  a  fortnight  at  Madame  OdintzofF's.  This 
result  was  contributed  to  by  the  order  which  she 
had  introduced  into  her  household  and  her  life. 
She  adhered  strictly  to  it,  and  made  others  con- 
form to  it  also.  Throughout  the  whole  day  every- 
thing was  done  at  an  appointed  time.  In  the 
morning,  exactly  at  eight  o'clock,  the  whole  com- 
pany assembled  for  tea ;  from  tea  until  breakfast 
each  one  did  whatever  he  wished,  and  the  hostess 
busied  herself  with  her  steward  (the  estate  was 
managed  on  the  quit-rent  system) ,  with  her  but- 
lers, and  with  the  head-housekeeper.  Before  din- 
ner the  company  again  assembled  for  conversa- 
tion or  reading;  the  evening  was  devoted  to 
strolls,  cards,  music;  at  half -past  ten  Anna  Ser- 
gyeevna  retired  to  her  own  room,  issued  orders 
for  the  following  day,  and  went  to  bed.  Bazaroff 
did  not  like  this  measured,  somewhat  solemn  reg- 
ularity of  daily  life:  "  You  roll  along  as  though 

1,56 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

on  rails,"  he  asserted;  the  liveried  lackeys,  the 
stately  butlers,  offended  his  democratic  feehng. 
He  thought  that  if  it  had  come  to  that  then  they 
ought  to  dine  in  English  fashion,  in  dress-suits 
and  white  ties.  One  day  he  stated  his  views  on 
this  point  to  Anna  Sergyeevna.  She  bore  herself 
in  such  a  manner  that  any  man  could,  without  cir- 
cumlocution, express  his  opinions  in  her  presence. 
She  heard  him  out,  and  said :  "  From  your  point 
of  view,  you  are  right — and,  perhaps,  in  that  case, 
— I  am  a  gentlewoman;  but  one  cannot  live  with- 
out order  in  the  country, — one  would  be  bored  to 
death," — and  went  on  in  her  own  way.  Bazaroff 
grumbled,  but  he  and  Arkady  found  life  easy 
at  Madame  Odintzoff 's,  because  everything  in  her 
house  did  "  run  as  though  on  rails."  Neverthe- 
less, both  young  men  underwent  a  change  from 
the  very  first  days  of  their  stay  at  Nikolskoe.  A 
trepidation  hitherto  non-existent  made  its  appear- 
ance in  Bazaroff,  whom  Anna  Sergyeevna  ob- 
viously favoured:  he  was  easily  irritated,  talked 
unwillingly,  wore  an  angry  aspect,  and  could  not 
sit  still  in  one  place,  just  as  though  something 
made  him  uneasy;  and  Arkady,  who  had  finally 
decided  in  his  own  mind  that  he  was  in  love  with 
Madame  Odintzoff,  began  to  surrender  himself 
to  gentle  melancholy.  However,  this  melancholy 
did  not  prevent  his  becoming  intimate  with 
Katya;  it  even  aided  him  to  enter  into  friendly, 
affectionate  relations  with  her.     "She  does  not 

157 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

appreciate  me !  So  be  it!  .  .  .  But  here  is  a  kind 
being  who  will  not  spurn  me,"  he  thought,  and 
his  heart  again  tasted  the  sweetness  of  magnani- 
mous sentiments.  Katya  dimly  comprehended 
that  he  was  seeking  some  sort  of  consolation  in  her 
society,  and  did  not  refuse  to  him  or  to  herself 
the  innocent  gratification  of  a  half -bashful,  half- 
confiding  friendship.  They  did  not  talk  to  each 
other  in  the  presence  of  Anna  Sergyeevna :  Katya 
always  contracted  beneath  her  sister's  keen 
glance,  and  Arkady,  as  was  befitting  a  man  in 
love,  in  the  presence  of  his  adored  object  could 
not  devote  any  attention  to  anything  else ;  but  he 
was  happy  alone  with  Katya.  He  felt  that  he  was 
not  capable  of  interesting  JNIadame  Odintzoif ;  he 
became  timid  and  lost  his  presence  of  mind  when 
he  was  left  alone  with  her ;  and  she  did  not  know 
what  to  say  to  him :  he  was  too  young  for  her.  On 
the  other  hand,  with  Katya  Arkady  was  at  home, 
as  it  were ;  he  treated  her  condescendingly,  did  not 
interfere  with  her  expressing  the  impressions 
awakened  in  her  by  music,  the  perusal  of  novels, 
of  poetry,  and  by  other  trifles,  without  himself 
perceiving  or  acknowledging  that  these  trifles  in- 
terested him.  Arkady  was  at  ease  with  Katya, 
Madame  Odintzoff  with  Bazaroif,  and  conse- 
quently this  was  the  usual  order  of  things:  the 
two  couples  after  remaining  a  short  time  together 
went  their  separate  ways,  especially  during  ram- 
bles.   Katya  adored  nature,  and  Arkady  loved  it, 

158 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

although  he  did  not  dare  to  confess  it;  Madame 
Odintzoff  was  quite  indifferent  to  it,  as  was  also 
Bazaroff.  The  almost  constant  separation  of  our 
friends  did  not  remain  without  results:  the  rela- 
tions between  them  began  to  undergo  a  change. 
Bazaroff  ceased  to  talk  to  Arkady  about  Madame 
Odintzoff,  ceased  even  to  revile  her  "  aristocratic 
habits" ;  it  is  true  that  he  lauded  Katya  as  before, 
and  only  advised  that  her  sentimental  tenden- 
cies should  be  checked,  but  his  praises  were  hasty, 
his  advice  curt,  and,  in  general,  he  talked  much 
less  to  Arkady  than  of  yore:  ...  he  seemed  to 
shun  him,  as  though  he  were  ashamed  in  his  pres- 
ence. .  .  . 

Arkady  observed  all  this,  but  kept  his  observa- 
tions to  himself. 

The  real  cause  of  all  this  "  novelty  "  was  the 
sentiment  with  which  Madame  Odintzoff  had  in- 
spired Bazaroff — a  sentiment  which  tortured  and 
enraged  him,  and  which  he  would  have  spurned 
on  the  instant,  with  scornful  laughter  and  cynical 
sneers,  had  any  one  hinted,  even  distantly,  at  the 
possibility  of  that  which  had  taken  place  in  him, 
Bazaroff.  Bazaroff  was  very  fond  of  women 
and  of  feminine  beauty,  but  love  in  the  ideal,  or, 
as  he  expressed  it,  the  romantic  sense,  he  called 
balderdash,  unpardonable  folly;  regarded  chival- 
rous sentiments  as  a  sort  of  deformity  or  malady, 
and  had  more  than  once  given  utterance  to  his 
amazement  at  their  not  having  put  Toggenburg, 

159 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

along  with  all  his  minnesingers  and  troubadours, 
in  a  mad-house!  "  If  a  woman  pleases  you,"  he 
had  been  wont  to  say,  "  try  to  get  to  the  bottom 
of  the  business;  but  if  that  is  impossible, 
well,  you  don't  want  her;  turn  away,  she's  not 
the  only  one  in  the  world."  Madame  Odintzoff 
pleased  him :  the  rimiours  in  circulation  about  her, 
the  freedom  and  independence  of  her  thoughts, 
her  indubitable  liking  for  him, — everything,  ap- 
parently, spoke  in  his  favour;  but  he  speedily 
comprehended  that  with  her  one  could  not  "  get 
to  the  bottom  of  the  business,"  and  that,  to 
his  own  amazement,  he  had  not  the  strength 
to  turn  away  from  her.  His  blood  began  to 
boil  as  soon  as  he  called  her  to  mind;  he 
could  easily  have  controlled  his  blood,  but  some- 
thing else  had  taken  up  its  abode  in  him,  which 
he  in  nowise  admitted,  over  which  he  was  forever 
sneering,  which  revolted  his  pride.  In  his  conver- 
sations with  Anna  Sergyeevna  he  more  than  ever 
expressed  his  indifferent  scorn  for  everything  ro- 
mantic ;  and  when  he  was  left  alone  he  recognised 
with  wrath  the  romantic  in  himself.  Then  he 
went  oiF  to  the  forest  and  roamed  about  it  in  huge 
strides,  breaking  the  boughs  which  came  in  his 
way,  and  cursing  in  an  undertone  both  her  and 
himself;  or  he  ensconced  himself  in  the  hay-loft, 
in  a  shed,  and,  obstinately  shutting  his  eyes,  he 
forced  himself  to  sleep,  which,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  he  did  not  always  succeed  in  doing,    All 

160 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

at  once  it  would  seem  to  him  as  though  those 
chaste  arms  were  encircling  his  neck,  those  proud 
lips  were  responding  to  his  kisses,  those  intelligent 
eyes  were  riveted  tenderly, — yes,  tenderly, — on 
his  eyes,  and  his  head  would  begin  to  reel,  and  he 
would  forget  himself  for  a  moment  until  indigna- 
tion again  flared  up  within  him.  He  caught  him- 
self in  all  sorts  of  "shameful"  thoughts,  as  though 
a  demon  were  tormenting  him.  It  sometimes 
seemed  to  him  that  a  change  was  taking  place  in 
Madame  Odmtzoff*,  that  in  the  expression  of  her 
face  something  peculiar  had  made  its  appearance, 
but  that  possibly.  .  .  .  But  at  this  point  he  gen- 
erally stamped  his  foot,  or  gnashed  his  teeth,  and 
menaced  himself  with  his  clenched  fist. 

Nevertheless,  Bazaroif  was  not  mistaken.  He 
had  struck  Madame  OdintzofF's  imagination;  he 
interested  her,  and  she  thought  a  great  deal  about 
him.  She  was  not  bored  in  his  absence,  she  did  not 
wait  for  him,  but  his  appearance  immediately 
imparted  animation  to  her ;  she  willingly  remained 
alone  with  him,  and  hked  to  talk  with  him,  even 
when  he  angered  her,  or  offended  her  taste,  her 
elegant  habits.  She  seemed  to  be  desirous  of  both 
testing  him  and  sounding  herself. 

One  day  as  he  was  strolling  in  the  garden  with 
her  he  suddenly  said,  in  a  surly  voice,  that  he 
intended  soon  to  go  away  to  the  village  to  his 
father.  .  .  She  turned  pale,  as  though  something 
had  stung  her  heart,  and  stung  it  in  such  wise  that 

161 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

she  was  surprised,  and  meditated  for  a  long  time 
what  this  might  mean.  Bazaroif  had  informed 
her  of  his  departure,  not  with  the  idea  of  putting 
her  to  the  test  to  see  what  would  come  of  it:  he 
never  "  invented."  On  the  morning  of  that  day 
he  had  had  an  interview  with  his  father's  man- 
ager, his  former  valet,  Timofeitch.  This  Timo- 
feitch,  an  experienced  and  alert  old  man,  with 
faded  yellow  hair,  weather-beaten  red  face,  and 
tiny  tear-drops  in  his  blinking  eyes,  had  unex- 
pectedly presented  himself  to  Bazaroif  in  his 
short  overcoat  of  thick,  greyish-blue  cloth,  girt 
with  a  fragment  of  leather,  and  in  tarred  boots. 

"Ah,  old  man,  how  art  thou!  "—exclaimed 
Bazaroif. 

"  Good  morning,  dear  little  father  Evgeny  Va- 
sflitch," — began  the  little  old  man,  and  smiled 
joyously,  which  caused  his  whole  face  suddenly  to 
be  covered  with  wrinkles. 

"  Why  art  thou  come?  Have  they  sent  thee 
forme?" 

"  Good  gracious,  dear  little  father,  how  can  you 
think  that!  "—lisped  Timofeitch  (he  called  to 
mind  the  strict  orders  he  had  received  from  his 
master  when  he  set  out).— "I  was  going  to 
town  on  business  and  heard  about  your  grace,  so 
I  turned  aside  on  the  way,  that  is — to  have  a  look 
at  your  grace ;  .  .  .  .  but  how  could  any  one  feel 
uneasy? " 

"  Come,  don't  lie,"— Bazaroif  interrupted  him. 
162 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

— "  Dost  thou  mean  to  say  that  thy  road  to  town 
lies  here  ?  "  Timof  eitch  hesitated  and  made  no  re- 
ply.—"  Is  my  father  well?  " 

"  Yes.    Glory  to  God,  sir." 

"And  my  mother?" 

"  And  Arina  Vlasievna  also,  glory  to  Thee,  O 
Lord." 

"  I  suppose  they  are  expecting  me!  " 

The  little  old  man  hung  his  tiny  head  on  one 
side,—"  Akh,  Evgeny  Vasilievitch,  how  can  they 
help  expecting  you,  sir!  As  you  believe  in  God, 
my  heart  has  ached  as  I  looked  at  your  parents." 

"  Well,  very  good,  very  good!  Don't  describe 
it.    Tell  them  that  I  will  come  soon." 

"  I  obey,  sir,"— replied  Timof  eitch,  with  a  sigh. 

As  he  emerged  from  the  house  he  banged  his 
cap  down  on  his  head  with  both  hands,  cHmbed 
into  the  mean  racing  drozhky  which  he  had  left 
at  the  gate,  and  drove  off  at  a  trot,  only  not  in  the 
direction  of  the  town. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  Madame 
Odintzoff  was  sitting  in  her  room  with  Bazaroif , 
while  Arkady  was  pacing  the  music-room  and  lis- 
tening to  Katya's  playing.  The  Princess  had  re- 
tired to  her  own  room  up-stairs;  in  general,  she 
could  not  bear  visitors,  and  in  particular  these 
"  sans  culottes,"  as  she  called  them.  In  the  state 
apartments  she  did  nothing  but  pout;  on  the  other 
hand,  in  her  own  room,  in  the  presence  of  her 
maid,  she  sometimes  broke  out  into  such  abuse 

163 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

that  her  cap  flew  off  her  head  in  company  with 
her  wig.    Madame  Odintzoff  was  aware  of  this. 

"  Why  are  you  preparing  to  leave," — she  be- 
gan;— "  and  how  about  your  promise?  " 

Bazaroff  started. — "  What  promise,  madam?  " 

*'  Have  you  forgotten?  You  were  to  give  me 
a  few  lessons  in  chemistry." 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  ma'am?  My  father  ex- 
pects me;  I  can  delay  no  longer.  However,  you 
can  read :  Pelouze  et  Fremy,  *  Notions  Generales 
de  Chimie  '  ;  it  is  a  good  book  and  clearly  written. 
In  it  you  will  find  everything  that  is  necessary." 

"  But  remember  you  assured  me  that  a  book 
cannot  take  the  place  ....  I  have  forgotten  how 
you  expressed  yourself,  but  you  know  what  I 
want  to  say,  ....  do  you  remember? " 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  ma'am? " — repeated  Ba- 
zaroff. 

"  Why  go?  "—said  Madame  Odintzoff,  lower- 
ing her  voice. 

He  glanced  at  her.  She  had  thrown  her  head 
against  the  back  of  the  arm-chair  and  had  crossed 
her  hands — her  arms  were  bare  to  the  elbow — on 
her  lap.  She  seemed  paler  by  the  light  of  the  soU- 
tary  lamp,  shaded  by  a  network  of  cut  paper. 
Her  ample  white  gown  almost  completely  covered 
her  with  its  soft  folds ;  the  tips  of  her  feet,  which 
were  also  crossed,  were  barely  visible. 

"  And  why  stay?  "—replied  Bazaroff. 

Madame  Odintzoff  turned  her  head  shghtly.— 
164. 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  asking  why?  Don't  you 
find  things  cheerful  in  my  house?  Or  do  you 
think  that  no  one  will  regret  you  here?  " 

"  I  am  convinced  of  that." 

Madame  Odintzoff  was  silent  for  a  space. — 
"  You  are  mistaken  in  thinking  so.  However,  I 
do  not  believe  you.  You  cannot  have  said  that 
seriously." 

Bazaroff  continued  to  sit  there  motionless. — 
"  Evgeny  VasiHevitch,  why  do  not  you  speak?  " 

"  But  what  can  I  say  to  you?  It  is  not  worth 
while  to  regret  people  in  general,  and  me  in  par- 
ticular." 

"  Why  so?  " 

"  I  am  a  sedate,  uninteresting  man.  I  do  not 
know  how  to  talk." 

"  You  are  begging  for  a  compliment,  Evgeny 
VasiHevitch." 

"  That  is  not  my  habit.  Do  not  you  know  your- 
self that  the  elegant  side  of  hf  e  is  inaccessible  to 
me,  the  side  which  you  value  so  highly?  " 

Madame  Odintzoff  nibbled  the  corner  of  her 
handkerchief.—"  Think  what  you  like,  but  I 
shall  find  it  dull  when  you  are  gone." 

"  Arkady  will  remain,"— remarked  Bazaroff. 

Madame  Odintzoff  shrugged  her  shoulders 
sHghtly. — "  I  shall  find  it  dull,"— she  repeated. 

"  Really?  In  any  case,  you  will  not  be  bored 
long." 

"  Why  do  you  assume  that?  " 
165 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Because  you  yourself  have  told  me  that  you 
are  bored  only  when  your  order  is  disturbed.  You 
have  arranged  your  life  in  such  an  impeccably- 
regular  manner  that  there  can  be  no  room  in  it 
for  irksomeness  or  dulness  ...  or  for  any  pain- 
ful feelings." 

*'  And  you  think  that  I  am  impeccable?  .  .  . 
that  is  to  say,  that  I  have  arranged  my  hf  e  in  such 
a  regular  manner? " 

"  Certainly !  Here,  for  example :  in  a  few  min- 
utes the  clock  will  strike  ten,  and  I  know  before- 
hand that  you  will  drive  me  away." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  drive  you  away,  Evgeny  Va- 
silievitch.  You  may  stay.  Open  that  window.  .  . 
I  feel  stifled  for  some  reason." 

BazarofF  rose  and  pushed  the  window.  It  im- 
mediately flew  open  with  a  bang.  .  .  He  had  not 
expected  that  it  would  open  so  readily ;  moreover, 
his  hands  were  trembhng.  The  dark,  soft  night 
peered  into  the  room  with  its  almost  black  sky, 
faintly  rustling  trees,  and  fresh  odour  of  the  open, 
pure  air. 

"  Pull  down  the  shade  and  sit  down,"— said 
Madame  Odintzoff :— "  I  want  to  have  a  chat  with 
you  before  your  departure.  Tell  me  something 
about  yourself;  you  never  talk  about  yourself." 

"  I  try  to  talk  to  you  about  useful  subjects, 
Anna  Sergyeevna." 

"  You  are  very  modest.  .  .  But  I  should  like  to 
know  something  about  you,  about  your  family, 
.     166 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

about  your  father,  for  whom  you  are  abandon- 
ing us." 

"  Why  does  she  say  such  words?  "  thought  Ba- 
zarofF. 

"  All  that  is  not  in  the  least  interesting," — ^he 
articulated  aloud: — "  especially  for  you;  we  are 
ordinary  people " 

"  And  I,  in  your  opinion,  am  an  aristocrat?  " 

Bazaroff  raised  his  eyes  to  Madame  Odintzoff. 
— "  Yes,"  he  said,  with  exaggerated  sharpness. 

She  laughed. — "  I  see  that  you  know  me  very 
little,  although  you  assert  that  all  people  are 
alike,  and  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  study 
them.    I  will  narrate  the  story  of  my  life  to  you 

some  day; but  first  you  must  tell  me 

yours." 

"  I  know  you  very  httle,"— repeated  Bazaroff. 
—"Perhaps  you  are  right;  perhaps,  in  reality, 
every  human  being  is — a  riddle.  Just  take  your- 
self, for  example :  you  shun  society,  it  is  a  burden 
to  you, — and  you  have  invited  two  students  to  re- 
side with  you.  Why  do  you,  with  your  mind,  with 
your  beauty,  live  in  the  country?  " 

"  What?  What  is  that  you  said?  "—Madame 
Odintzoff  caught  him  up  with  animation—"  With 
my beauty? " 

Bazaroff  frowned.—"  That  is  nothing," — ^he 
muttered;—"  I  wanted  to  say  that  I  do  not  thor- 
oughly understand  why  you  have  settled  down  in 
the  country." 

167 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

1  "  You  do  not  understand  that.  .  .  .  But  you 

explain  it  to  yourself  in  some  way  or  other?  " 

"Yes; I  suppose  you  remain  con- 
stantly in  one  place  because  you  have  indulged 
yourself,  because  you  love  comfort,  ease,  and  are 
very  indifferent  to  everything  else." 

Madame  Odintzoff  laughed  again.—"  You  are 
positively  determined  not  to  believe  that  I  am 
capable  of  being  carried  away?  " 

Bazaroff  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  her. — "  By 
curiosity, — perhaps,  but  not  otherwise." 

"  Really?  Well,  now  I  understand  why  you 
and  I  have  become  friends;  for  you  are  just  such 
a  person  as  myself." 

"  We  have  become  friends  .  .  .  ."  said  Baza- 
roff, dully. 

"Yes!  ....  but  I  had  forgotten  that  you 
want  to  go  away." 

Bazaroff  rose.  The  lamp  burned  dimly  in  the 
centre  of  the  shadowy,  perfumed,  isolated  room; 
through  the  curtain,  which  fluttered  now  and 
then,  the  exhilarating  freshness  of  the  night  was 
wafted  in,  its  mysterious  whispering  was  audible. 
Madame  Odintzoff  did  not  move  a  single  mem- 
ber, but  a  secret  agitation  was  gradually  seizing 
hold  upon  her.  ...  It  communicated  itself  to 
Bazaroff.  She  suddenly  became  conscious  that 
he  was  alone  with  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman.  .  .  . 

"  Where  are  you  going?  " — she  said  slowly. 
168 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

He  made  no  reply  and  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"  So  you  regard  me  as  a  calm,  eiFeminate, 
spoiled  being,"— she  went  on  ki  the  same  tone, 
never  taking  her  eyes  from  the  window. — "  But 
as  for  me,  I  know  as  to  myself  that  I  am  un- 
happy." 

"  You  are  unhappy  1  Why?  Is  it  possible  that 
you  can  attach  any  significance  to  vile  gossip?  " 

Madame  OdintzofF  knit  her  brows.  She  was 
vexed  that  he  had  understood  her  in  that  way. 

"  That  gossip  does  not  even  disturb  me,  Ev- 
geny  Vasilievitch,  and  I  am  too  proud  to  permit 
it  to  worry  me.  I  am  unhappy  because  ...  I 
have  no  wish,  no  desire  to  live.  You  look  at  me 
incredulously ;  you  are  thinking :  An  *  aristocrat,' 
all  covered  with  lace  and  seated  in  a  velvet  arm- 
chair, is  saying  iJiat.  And  I  do  not  dissimulate: 
I  do  love  what  you  call  comfort,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  I  have  very  little  desire  to  live.  Accept 
this  contradiction  as  you  like.  However,  all  this 
is  romanticism  in  your  eyes." 

Bazaroff  shook  his  head.—"  You  are  healthy, 
independent,  rich;  what  more  do  you  require? 
What  do  you  want?  " 

"  What  do  I  want?  "—repeated  Madame 
Odintzoff,  and  sighed.—"  I  am  very  weary;  I 
am  old ;  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  been  living  for 
a  very  great  while.  Yes,  I  am  old,"— she  added, 
gently  drawing  the  ends  of  her  mantilla  over  her 
bare   arms. — Her   eyes   encountered   BazaroiF's 

169 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

eyes,  and  she  blushed  faintly.—"  There  are  so 
many  memories  behind  me:  life  in  Petersburg, 
wealth,  then  poverty,  then  my  father's  death,  mar- 
riage, then  a  trip  abroad,  as  was  proper.  .  .  . 
Many  memories,  but  it  is  not  worth  while  to  recall 
them;  and  before  me — is  a  long,  long  road,  but 
I  have  no  goal.  .  .  And  I  do  not  want  to  go 
on." 

"  Are  you  so  disenchanted?  "—asked  Bazaroff . 

"  No,"— rejoined  Madame  OdintzofF  bro- 
kenly,— "  but  I  am  dissatisfied.  I  think  that  if  I 
could  become  strongly  attached  to  anything  .  ." 

"  You  want  to  fall  in  love," — Bazaroff  inter- 
rupted her, — "and  you  cannot  fall  in  love; 
therein  lies  your  misfortune." 

Madame  Odintzoff  inspected  the  sleeve  of  her 
wrap. 

"  Cannot  I  fall  in  love?  "—she  said. 

"  Hardly !  Only  I  erred  in  calling  that  a  mis- 
fortune. On  the  contrary,  he  is  rather  deserving 
of  compassion  to  whom  that  fate  befalls." 

"Befalls, -what?" 

"  To  fall  in  love." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  By  hearsay," — replied  Bazaroff  angrily. 

"Thou  art  flirting,"  he  thought;  "thou  art 
bored  and  art  teasing  me  for  the  lack  of  some- 
thing to  do,  and  I  .  .  .  ."  In  fact,  his  heart  was 
fairly  breaking. 

"  Besides,  you  may  be  too  exacting,"— he  said, 
170 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

bending  his  whole  body  forward  and  playing  with 
the  fringe  on  the  arm-chair. 

"  Possibly.  According  to  my  view,  it  is  all  or 
nothing.  A  Hf e  for  a  life.  Thou  hast  taken  mine, 
hand  over  thine,  and  then  we  can  proceed  without 
regret  and  without  return.  Otherwise,  better  let 
it  alone." 

"  What  then?  "—remarked  BazarofF.— "  That 
condition  is  perfectly  just,  and  I  am  surprised 
that  up  to  this  time  you  ....  have  not  found 
what  you  want." 

"  But  do  you  think  it  is  easy  to  surrender  one's 
self  entirely  to  anything  whatever?  " 

"It  is  not  easy  if  one  takes  to  reflecting  and 
waiting  and  sets  a  value  on  one's  self — esteems 
one's  self,  that  is ;  but  to  surrender  one's  self  with- 
out reflection  is  very  easy." 

"  But  how  can  one  help  valuing  one's  self?  If 
I  have  no  value,  who  wants  my  devotion?  " 

"  That  is  no  aff'air  of  mine;  it  is  the  aff'air  of 
some  one  else  to  examine  into  the  question  of  my 
value.  The  principal  thing  is  to  know  how  to  sur- 
render one's  self." 

Madame  Odintzofi^  separated  herself  from  the 
back  of  her  chair.—"  You  speak,"— said  she— 
"  as  though  you  had  gone  through  all  that." 

"  It  was  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  Anna  Sergye- 
evna:  all  that,  as  you  know,  is  not  in  my  line." 

"  But  would  you  know  how  to  surrender  your- 
self? " 

171 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  do  not  know  how ;  I  will  not  boast." 

Madame  Odintzoff  said  nothing,  and  BazarofF 
relapsed  into  silence.  The  sounds  of  the  piano 
were  wafted  to  them  from  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  What  makes  Katya  play  so  late? " — re- 
marked Madame  Odintzoff. 

Bazaroff  rose.  "  Yes,  it  really  is  late ;  it  is 
time  for  you  to  go  to  bed." 

"  Wait.  Whither  are  you  hastening.  .  .  I 
must  say  one  word  more  to  you." 

"  What  word? " 

"  Wait,"— whispered  Madame  Odintzoff.— 
Her  eyes  rested  on  Bazaroff;  she  seemed  to  be  at- 
tentively inspecting  him. 

He  paced  the  room,  then  suddenly  approached 
her,  said  hastily  "  Farewell,"  gripped  her  hand  so 
that  she  almost  screamed  aloud,  and  went  out. 
She  raised  her  fingers,  which  stuck  together,  to 
her  lips,  blew  upon  them,  and  rising  suddenly,  im- 
pulsively from  her  chair,  walked  to  the  door  with 
rapid  steps,  as  though  desirous  of  recalling  Baza- 
roff. . . .  Her  maid  entered  the  room  with  a  carafe 
on  a  silver  salver.  Madame  Odintzoff  stopped 
short,  ordered  her  to  leave  the  room,  seated 
herself  again,  and  again  fell  into  thought. 
Her  hair  uncoiled  and  fell  on  her  shoulder  like  a 
dark-hued  serpent.  The  lamp  burned  for  a  long 
time  still  in  Anna  Sergyeevna's  chamber,  and  for 
a  long  time  she  remained  motionless,  only  now 

172 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

and  then  passing  her  fingers  over  her  arms,  which 
the  night  air  stung  rather  sharply. 

But  BazarofF  two  hours  later  returned  to  his 
room  with  boots  damp  from  the  dew,  dishevelled 
and  surly.  He  found  Arkady  at  the  writing- 
table  with  a  book  in  his  hands  and  his  coat  but- 
toned to  the  throat. 

"  Thou  art  not  yet  in  bed?  "—he  said,  as  though 
in  vexation. 

"  Thou  hast  sat  a  long  time  this  evening  with 
Anna  Sergyeevna," — remarked  Arkady,  without 
replying  to  his  question. 

"  Yes,  I  was  sitting  with  her  all  the  while  that 
you  and  Katerina  Sergyeevna  were  playing  on 
the  piano." 

"  I  was  not  playing  .  .  .  ."  began  Arkady, 
and  stopped  short.  He  felt  the  tears  welling  up 
in  his  eyes  and  he  did  not  wish  to  weep  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  jeering  friend. 


173 


XVIII 

On  the  following  day,  when  Madame  Odintzoff 
made  her  appearance  at  tea,  BazaroiF  sat  for  a 
long  time  bent  over  his  cup,  then  suddenly  cast  a 
glance  at  her.  .  .  She  turned  toward  him,  as 
though  he  had  nudged  her,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  her  face  had  grown  somewhat  paler  over- 
night. She  soon  went  away  to  her  own  room  and 
did  not  appear  again  until  breakfast.  From  early 
morning  the  weather  had  been  rainy,  and  walking 
was  impossible.  The  whole  company  assembled 
in  the  drawing-room.  Arkady  got  the  last  num- 
ber of  the  newspaper  and  began  to  read  aloud. 
The  Princess,  according  to  her  wont,  first  ex- 
pressed amazement  on  her  face,  exactly  as  though 
he  were  plotting  something  improper,  then  riveted 
her  eyes  maliciously  upon  him ;  but  he  paid  no  at- 
tention to  her. 

"  Evgeny  Vasilievitch," — said  Anna  Sergye- 

evna,— "  come  to  my  room I  want  to  ask 

you  ....  you  mentioned  yesterday  a  guide  ..." 

She  rose  and  went  toward  the  door.  The  Prin- 
cess glanced  around  with  an  expression  which 
seemed  to  say,  "  Look,  look,  how  astonished  I 
am!  "  and  again  bored  her  eyes  into  Arkady,  but 

174 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

he  raised  his  voice,  and  exchanging  a  glance  with 
Katya,  beside  whom  he  was  sitting,  went  on 
reading. 

Madame  Odfntzoff,  with  hasty  steps,  betook 
herself  to  her  boudoir.  Bazaroif  briskly  followed 
her,  without  raising  his  eyes,  and  merely  catching 
with  his  ear  the  faint  whirr  and  rustle  of  her 
silken  gown,  which  was  gliding  on  in  front  of  him. 
Madame  Odintzoff  dropped  into  the  same  arm- 
chair in  which  she  had  sat  on  the  preceding  even- 
ing, and  Bazaroff  resumed  his  former  place. 

"  So  what  is  the  title  of  that  book? " — she  be- 
gan, after  a  brief  silence. 

"  Pelouze  et  Fremy, '  Notions  Generales,'  "... 
rephed  BazarofF.— "  But  I  can  also  reconmiend 
to  you  Ganot,  '  Traite  elementaire  de  Physique 
Experimentale.'  In  this  work  the  illustrations  are 
exact,  and,  on  the  whole,  that  manual " 

Madame  Odintzoff  stretched  out  her  hand. — 
"  Evgeny  Vasilievitch,  pardon  me,  but  I  have  not 
summoned  you  hither  for  the  purpose  of  discus- 
sing manuals.  I  wished  to  renew  our  conversa- 
tion of  last  night.  You  went  away  so  suddenly. 
.  .  You  will  not  find  it  irksome?  " 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  Anna  Sergyeevna. 
But,  dear  me,  what  was  it  we  were  talking  about 
last  night?" 

Madame  Odintzoff  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at 
Bazaroff. — "  We  were  talking  about  happiness, 
I  beheve.    I  was  telling  you  about  myself.    By 

175 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

the  way,  I  have  mentioned  the  word  '  happiness. ' 
Tell  me  why,  even  when  we  are  enjoying  music, 
for  example,  a  fine  evening,  a  conversation  with 
sympathetic  persons,— why  does  it  all  seem  rather 
a  hint  of  some  illimitable  happiness,  which  exists 
somewhere  or  other,  than  real  happiness — that  is, 
the  sort  such  as  we  ourselves  possess?  Why  is 
this?  Or,  perhaps,  you  do  not  feel  anything  of 
that  sort? " 

"  You  know  the  adage :  *  That  place  is  fair 
where  we  are  not,'  " — returned  BazarofF; — "  be- 
sides, you  yourself  said  last  night  that  you  are 
dissatisfied.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  such 
thoughts  do  not  enter  my  head." 

"  Perhaps  they  seem  ridiculous  to  you?  " 
"  No,  but  they  do  not  enter  my  head." 
"  Really?    Do  you  know,  I  should  very  much 
like  to  know  what  you  think  about?  " 
"  What?    I  do  not  understand  you." 
"  Listen,  I  have  long  wanted  to  have  an  expla- 
nation with  you.    There  is  no  necessity  for  teUing 
you — you  know  that  yourself — that  you  do  not 
belong  to  the  class  of  ordinary  men : — you  are  still 
young — all  life  is  before  you.    For  what  are  you 
preparing  yourself?    What  future  awaits  you? 
I  mean  to  say — what  goal  do  you  wish  to  attain? 
whither    are    you    going?    what    have    you    in 
your  soul?— in  a  word,  who  are  you?  what  are 
you? " 

"  You   amaze  me,   Anna   Sergyeevna.    You 
176 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

know  that  I  am  occupied  with  the  natural  sciences. 
And  as  to  who  I  am  .  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  who  are  you?  " 

"  I  have  already  informed  you  that  I  am  to  be 
a  country  doctor." 

Anna  Sergyeevna  made  a  movement  of  im- 
patience.— "  Why  do  you  say  that?  You  do  not 
believe  that  yourself.  Arkady  might  answer  me 
in  that  manner,  but  not  you." 

"  But  why  should  Arkady " 

"  Will  you  stop  ?  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  sat- 
isfied with  so  humble  an  activity,  and  are  not  you 
5^ourself  forever  asserting  that  medicine  does  not 
exist  for  you?  You — with  your  pride — a  district 
doctor !  You  answer  me  in  that  way  with  the  ob- 
ject  of  getting  rid  of  me  because  you  have  no 
confidence  in  me.  But  do  you  know,  Evgeny 
Vasilitch,  I  have  learned  to  understand  you: 
I  myself  have  been  poor  and  proud,  like  you; 
I  have  passed,  perhaps,  through  the  same  trials 
as  you." 

"  All  that  is  very  fine,  Anna  Sergyeevna,  but 
you  must  excuse  me ;  ...  in  general,  I  have  not 
been  used  to  expressing  myself ;  and  between  you 
and  me  there  is  such  a  gulf " 

"  What  gulf? — Are  you  going  to  tell  me  again 
that  I  am  an  aristocrat?  Enough.  Evgeny  Va- 
silitch; it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  demonstrated 
to  you " 

"  Yes,  and  in  addition  to  thftt,"— interrupted 

177 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Bazaroff,— "  what  is  the  use  of  discussing  a 
future,  which,  in  the  main,  does  not  depend  on 
us?  If  an  opportunity  to  do  something  fine 
should  turn  up — very  good;  and  if  it  does  not  turn 
up — at  all  events,  one  can  be  satisfied  that  one  has 
not  prated  uselessly  in  advance.  .  ." 

"  You  call  a  friendly  chat  prating  ....  or, 
perhaps,  you  do  not  regard  me  as  a  woman  worthy 
of  your  confidence  ?    You  scorn  us  all,  you  know." 

*'  I  do  not  scorn  you,  Anna  Sergyeevna,  you 
know  that." 

"  No,  I  know  nothing.  .  .  .  But  let  us  assume 
that  I  understand  your  reluctance  to  talk  about 
your  future  vocation ;  but  what  is  taking  place  in 
you  at  the  present  moment " 

"Taking  place!  "—repeated  Bazaroff,— "  as 
though  I  were  some  kingdom  or  other,  or  a  soci- 
ety !  In  any  case,  it  is  not  in  the  least  interesting ; 
and,  moreover,  can  a  man  always  say  aloud  every- 
thing that  is  '  taking  place  in  him'?  " 

"  But  I  do  not  see  why  it  is  impossible  to  speak 
out  everything  which  one  has  on  one's  soul." 

"  Can  you?  ^'—inquired  Bazaroff. 

"  I  can," — replied  Anna  Sergyeevna,  after  a 
slight  hesitation. 

Bazaroff  bowed  his  head.—"  You  are  more  for- 
tunate than  I." 

Anna  Sergyeevna  looked  inquiringly  at  him. — 
"As  you  like," — she  went  on; — "but,  neverthe- 
less, something  tells  me  that  it  is  not  for  nothing 

178 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

that  we  have  become  intimate,  that  we  shall  be 
good  friends.  I  am  convinced  that— how  shall  I 
say  it— this  intensity,  this  reserve  of  yours,  will 
vanish  in  the  end." 

"  And  have  you  noticed  in  me  reserve  .  .  .  how 
was  it  you  expressed  it  .  .  .  intensity?  " 

"  Yes." 

Bazaroff  rose  and  went  to  the  window.—"  And 
you  would  like  to  know  the  cause  of  that  reserve? 
—you  would  like  to  know  what  is  taking  place  in 
me?" 

"  Yes,"— repeated  Madame  Odintzoff,  with  a 
certain  alarm,  which  had  hitherto  been  unknown 
to  her. 

"  And  you  will  not  be  angry? " 

"  No." 

"  No?  "— BazarofF  was  standing  with  his  back 
to  her. — "  Then  you  must  know  that  I  love  you 
stupidly,  madly.  .  .  That  is  what  you  have  been 
trying  to  get." 

Madame  OdintzofF  stretched  both  arms  out  in 
front  of  her,  but  Bazaroff  leaned  his  brow  against 
the  window-pane.  He  was  suffocating ;  his  whole 
body  was  visibly  quivering.  But  this  was  not  the 
quiver  of  youthful  timidity,  not  the  sweet  terror 
of  the  first  confession,  which  had  taken  possession 
of  him;  it  was  passion  throbbing  in  him,  strong 
and  heavy — passion  resembling  wrath,  and,  per- 
haps,  allied  to  it Madame   Odintzoff 

was  terrified  at  him,  and  sorry  for  him. 

179 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

"  Evgeny  Vasilitch,"— she  said,  and  invol- 
untary tenderness  resounded  in  her  voice. 

He  wheeled  hastily  round,  flung  a  devouring 
glance  at  her,— and  seizing  both  her  hands,  sud- 
denly drew  her  to  his  breast. 

She  did  not  immediately  free  herself  from  his 
embrace ;  but  a  moment  later  she  was  standing  far 
away  in  a  corner  and  gazing  thence  at  BazarofP. 
He  rushed  toward  her.  .  .  . 

"  You  have  not  understood  me  aright," — she 
whispered  in  swift  alarm.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
if  he  took  another  step  she  should  shriek. — Baza- 
roff  bit  his  lip  and  left  the  room. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  maid  handed  Anna  Ser- 
gyeevna  a  note  from  BazarofF;  it  consisted  of 
only  a  single  line:  "  Am  I  to  go  away  to-day— 
or  may  I  stay  until  to-morrow? "— "  Why  go 
away?  I  did  not  understand  you — you  did  not 
understand  me," — Anna  Sergyeevna  replied  to 
him,  and  thought  to  herself,  "  And  I  did  not  un- 
derstand myself  either." 

She  did  not  show  herself  until  dinner,  and  kept 
pacing  back  and  forth  in  her  room  with  her  hands 
crossed  behind  her,  halting  from  time  to  time, 
now  in  front  of  the  window,  then  in  front  of  the 
mirror,  and  slowly  passing  her  handkerchief  over 
her  neck,  on  which  she  still  seemed  to  feel  a  burn- 
ing spot.  She  asked  herself  what  had  made  her 
"  try  to  get,"  to  use  Bazaroff*'s  expression,  his 
frankness,  and  whether  she  had  not  suspected  any- 

180 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

thing.  ..."  I  am  to  blame," — she  said  aloud, 
"  but  I  could  not  foresee  this."  She  fell  into 
thought,  and  blushed,  as  she  recalled  BazarofF's 
almost  fierce  face  when  he  had  rushed  at  her.  .  .  . 

"Or?  " — she  suddenly  articulated,  and  halted 
and  shook  her  curls.  .  .  .  She  beheld  herself  in 
the  mirror;  her  head  thrown  back,  with  a  smile 
on  the  half -parted,  half -closed  eyes  and  lips, 
seemed,  at  that  moment,  to  be  saying  something 
to  her  which  reduced  her  to  confusion.  .  .  . 

"  No,"  she  decided  at  last, — "  God  knows 
whither  that  would  have  led;  I  must  not  jest  with 
that ;  after  all,  tranquillity  is  better  than  anything 
else  in  the  world." 

Her  composure  was  not  shaken;  but  she  grew 
sad  and  even  wept  once,  not  knowing  herself  why, 
only  not  from  the  insult  which  had  been  dealt  her. 
She  did  not  feel  herself  insulted :  she  felt  herself, 
rather,  culpable.  Under  the  influence  of  divers 
confused  sensations,  the  consciousness  of  vanish- 
ing life,  the  desire  for  novelty,  she  forced  herself 
to  toe  the  appointed  mark,  made  herself  look  fur- 
ther— and  beheld  beyond  it  not  even  a  chasm, 
but  a  void  ....  or  a  horror. 


181 


XIX 

MiSTEESS  of  herself  as  she  was,  high  as  she  stood 
above  all  prejudices,  yet  Madame  Odintzoff  felt 
awkward  when  she  presented  herself  in  the  din- 
ing-room  for  dinner.  However,  it  passed  off 
quite  successfully.  Porfiry  Platonitch  came  and 
told  various  anecdotes;  he  had  only  just  returned 
from  the  town.  Among  other  things,  he  informed 
them  that  the  governor,  Bourdaloue,  had  ordered 
his  officials  for  special  commissions  to  wear  spurs, 
by  way  of  expediting  matters,  in  case  he  should 
despatch  them  anywhere  on  horseback.  Arkady 
chatted  with  Katya  in  a  subdued  voice  and  lis- 
tened diplomatically  to  the  Princess.  Bazaroff 
preserved  a  sullen  and  persistent  silence.  Ma- 
dame Odintzoff  looked  twice — not  stealthily,  but 
directly— at  his  face,  stern  and  bitter,  with  low- 
ered eyes,  with  the  stamp  of  scornful  decision  on 
every  feature,  and  thought,  "  No  .  .  .  .  no  .  .  . 
no.  .  .  ."  After  dinner  she  and  the  entire  com- 
pany went  into  the  garden,  and,  perceiving  that 
Bazaroff  wanted  to  speak  with  her,  she  went  a 
few  paces  aside  and  stopped.  He  approached 
her,  but  even  then  he  did  not  raise  his  eyes,  and 
said  dully: 

182 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  have  a  confession  to  make  to  you,  Anna 
Sergyeevna.    You  cannot  but  be  angry  with  me." 

"  No,  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  Evgeny  Va- 
silitch,"— rephed  Madame  Odintzoif ;  *'  but  I  am 
grieved." 

"  So  much  the  worse.  In  any  case,  I  am  suffi- 
ciently punished.  My  position,  as  you  will  prob- 
ably agree  with  me,  is  extremely  stupid.  You 
have  written  to  me:  '  Why  go? '  But  I  cannot 
and  will  not  stay.    To-morrow  I  shall  be  gone." 

"  Evgeny  Vasilitch,  why  are  you  .  .  .  ." 

"  Why  am  I  going?  " 

"  No,  that  was  not  what  I  meant  to  say." 

"  The  past  cannot  be  brought  back,  Anna  Ser- 
gyeevna ;  .  .  .  and  sooner  or  later  this  must  have 
happened.  Consequently,  I  must  go.  I  under- 
stand only  one  condition  under  which  I  could  re- 
main ;  but  that  condition  will  never  come  to  pass. 
For  you — pardon  my  audacity — do  not  love  me, 
and  will  never  love  me." 

Bazaroff 's  eyes  flashed  for  a  moment  beneath 
his  gloomy  brows. 

Anna  Sergyeevna  did  not  answer  him.  "  I  am 
afraid  of  this  man,"  flashed  through  her  head. 

"  Farewell,  madam,"  said  Bazaroff",  as  though 
divining  her  thought,  and  wended  his  way  to  the 
house. 

Anna  Sergyeevna  quietly  followed  him,  and 
calling  Katya,  took  her  arm.  .  .  She  did  not  de- 
tach herself  from  her  until  evening.    She  did  not 

183 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

play  cards,  and  laughed  a  great  deal,  which  did 
not  match  at  all  with  her  pallid,  agitated  face. 
Arkady  was  nonplussed  and  watched  her,  as 
young  men  watch;  that  is  to  say,  he  incessantly 
asked  himself:  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  " 
BazarofF  locked  himself  up  in  his  room;  but  he 
came  out  for  tea.  Anna  Sergyeevna  tried  to  utter 
some  kind  word  to  him,  but  she  did  not  know  how 
to  begin  the  conversation  with  him.  .  .  . 

An  unforeseen  incident  extricated  her  from  her 
dilemma :  the  butler  announced  the  arrival  of  Sit- 
nikofF. 

It  is  difficult  to  convey  in  words  the  quail-like 
manner  in  which  the  youthful  progressist  flew 
into  the  room.  Having  made  up  his  mind,  with 
the  audacity  peculiar  to  him,  to  drive  to  the  coun- 
try-house of  a  woman  whom  he  hardly  knew,  who 
had  never  invited  him,  but  who  was  entertaining 
— according  to  the  information  he  had  gathered — 
persons  who  were  so  clever  and  so  near  to  him, 
he  was,  nevertheless,  intimidated  to  the  very  mar- 
row of  his  bones,  and,  instead  of  uttering,  to  begin 
with,  the  conventional  excuses  and  greetings,  he 
stammered  out  some  nonsense  or  other,  to  the 
eff'ect  that  Evdoksiya  Kukshin  had  sent  him  to 
inquire  after  the  health  of  Anna  Sergyeevna,  and 
that  Arkady  Nikolaevitch  also  had  always  ex- 
pressed himself  to  him  in  the  most  laudatory 
terms.  .  .  .  At  this  point  he  broke  down  and  be- 
came confused  to  such  a  degree  that  he  sat  down 

184 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

on  his  own  hat.  But,  as  no  one  drove  him  out, 
and  Anna  Sergyeevna  even  introduced  him  to 
her  aunt  and  her  sister,  he  speedily  recovered  him- 
self and  chattered  away  famously.  The  appear- 
ance of  the  commonplace  is  often  useful  in  Hfe: 
it  relieves  the  tension  of  chords  too  highly  strung, 
its  sobers  self -conceited  or  self-f  orgetf  ul  feelings 
by  reminding  them  of  their  close  connection  with 
it.  With  Sitnikoff's  arrival  everything  became 
more  stupid  and  more  simple ;  every  one  even  ate 
a  more  hearty  supper,  and  they  went  off  to  bed 
half  an  hour  earlier  than  usual. 

"  I  can  repeat  to  thee  now," — said  Arkady,  as 
he  got  into  bed,  to  BazarofF,  who  was  also  un- 
dressed,— "  that  which  thou  saidst  to  me  one  day: 
*  Why  art  thou  so  sad?  assuredly,  thou  hast  ful- 
filled some  sacred  duty? '  " — for  some  time  past 
a  sort  of  hypocritically  free  and  easy  jesting  had 
been  established  between  the  two  young  men, 
which  always  serves  as  a  sign  of  secret  displeasure 
or  of  unuttered  suspicions. 

"  I  'm  going  off  to  my  father  to-morrow," — 
said  Bazaroff. 

Arkady  half  sat  up  and  propped  himself  on 
his  elbow.  For  some  reason  or  other,  he  was 
both  astonished  and  delighted. — "Ah!" — he 
ejaculated. — "  And  is  that  what  makes  thee 
sad? " 

Bazaroff  yawned. — "  If  thou  knowest  too 
much,  thou  wilt  grow  old." 

185 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  And  how  about  Anna  Sergyeevna?  " — went 
on  Arkady. 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  about  Anna  Sergye- 
evna? " 

"  I  mean  to  say,  is  it  possible  that  she  will  allow 
thee  to  go? " 

"  I  have  not  tied  myself  to  her." 

Arkady  reflected,  but  Bazaroff  got  into  bed 
and  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

Several  minutes  elapsed  in  silence.  "  Evgeny  I " 
— exclaimed  Arkady  suddenly. 

"  WeU? " 

"  I  'm  going  away  with  thee  to-morrow." 

BazaroiF  made  no  answer. 

"  Only  I  am  going  home," — pursued  Arkady. 
— "  We  will  go  together  as  far  as  the  Khokhlofl" 
settlement,  and  there  thou  canst  get  horses  from 
Feodot.  I  should  be  glad  to  make  the  acquain- 
tance of  thy  people,  but  I  am  afraid  of  incom- 
moding them  and  thee.  Thou  wilt  come  back  to 
us  later  on,  wilt  thou  not?  " 

"  I  left  my  things  at  thy  house," — repHed  Ba- 
zaroff", without  turning  round. 

"  Why  does  n  't  he  ask  me  why  I  am  going? 
and  as  suddenly  as  himself? "  thought  Arkady. 
"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  why  am  I  going?  and 
why  is  he  going? "  he  pursued  his  medita- 
tions. He  could  not  give  a  satisfactory  re- 
ply to  his  own  question,  but  his  heart  was 
filled  to  overflowing  with  a  caustic  sensation. 

186 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

He  felt  that  it  was  painful  to  him  to  part 
with  that  Hf  e  to  which  he  had  grown  so  accus- 
tomed ;  but  to  remain  alone  would  seem  somewhat 
strange.  "  What  has  taken  place  between 
them?  "—he  argued  the  matter  with  himself; 
"  and  why  should  I  show  myself  before  her  after 
his  departure?  I  shall  make  her  tired  of  me  for 
good  and  all;  and  I  shall  lose  my  last  hold."  He 
began  to  picture  to  himself  Anna  Sergyeevna, 
and  then  other  features  gradually  pierced  their 
way  through  the  lovely  image  of  the  young 
widow. 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  Katya,  too !  " — whispered  Ar- 
kady to  his  pillow,  on  which  a  tear  had  already 
fallen.  .  .  .  He  suddenly  flung  back  his  hair  and 
said  aloud: 

"  What  the  devil  did  that  blockhead  Sitnikoff 
come  for? " 

Bazaroff  first  moved  in  his  bed  and  then  emit- 
ted the  following:—"  Thou,  brother,  art  still 
stupid,  I  perceive.  Sitnikoffs  are  indispensable 
to  us.  I— mark  this — I  need  such  dolts.  Really, 
it  is  not  the  business  of  the  gods  to  bake  pots  I  .  ." 

"Aha,  ha  I  .  .  .  ."  thought  Arkady  to  himself, 
and  only  then  was  the  whole  bottomless  abyss  of 
Bazaroff 's  pride  disclosed  to  him  for  an  instant. 
"  So  thou  and  I  are  gods?  that  is— thou  art  a  god, 
and  am  I  the  dolt,  I  wonder?  " 

"  Yes,"— repeated  Bazaroff  grimly,—"  thou 
art  still  stupid." 

187 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Madame  OdintzoiF  did  not  manifest  any  par- 
ticular surprise  when,  on  the  following  day,  Ar- 
kady told  her  that  he  was  going  away  with  Baza- 
roff ;  she  seemed  preoccupied  and  weary.  Katya 
gazed  silently  and  seriously  at  him,  the  Princess 
even  crossed  herself  under  her  shawl,  so  that  he 
might  not  perceive  it,  but  Sitnikoif ,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  thoroughly  alarmed.  He  had  just 
come  to  breakfast  in  a  new,  dandified  outfit, 
which,  on  this  occasion,  was  not  Slavyanophil ;  on 
the  previous  evening  he  had  astonished  the  man 
appointed  to  wait  on  him  by  the  amount  of  body- 
linen  he  had  brought,  and,  all  of  a  sudden,  his 
comrades  were  abandoning  him!  He  danced  up 
and  down  a  little  and  rushed  about  like  a  hunted 
hare  at  the  edge  of  the  forest, — and  suddenly, 
almost  with  terror,  almost  with  a  shriek,  an- 
nounced that  he  intended  to  leave.  Madame 
Odintzoff  did  not  attempt  to  dissuade  him. 

"  I  have  a  very  easy  calash,"— added  the  un- 
happy young  man,  turning  to  Arkady. — "  I  can 
drive  you,  and  Evgeny  Vasilitch  can  take  your 
tarantas,  as  it  will  be  more  convenient  that  way." 

"  But  good  gracious,  it  is  not  on  your  road  at 
all,  and  I  live  far  away." 

"  That  makes  no  difference,  no  difference ;  I 
have  plenty  of  time,  and,  moreover,  I  have  busi- 
ness in  that  direction." 

"  Connected  with  the  liquor  monopoly?  "—in- 
quired Arkady,  quite  too  disdainfully. 

188 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

But  Sitnikoff  was  in  such  a  state  of  despair 
that,  contrary  to  his  wont,  he  did  not  even  smile. 
—"I  assure  you  my  calash  is  extremely  easy," 
— he  stammered, — "  and  there  will  be  room 
for  aU." 

"  Do  not  grieve  Monsieur  Sitnikoff  by  refus- 
ing,"—said  Anna  Sergyeevna.  .  .  . 

Arkady  glanced  at  her  and  significantly  bowed 
his  head. 

The  visitors  took  their  departure  after  break- 
fast. 

As  she  bade  Bazaroff  good-bye,  Madame 
Odintzoff  offered  him  her  hand  and  said,—"  We 
shall  see  each  other  again,  shall  we  not?  " 

"  At  your  command,"— replied  Bazaroff. 

"  In  that  case,  we  shall  meet  again." 

Arkady  was  the  first  to  emerge  upon  the  porch : 
he  chmbed  into  Sitnikoff's  calash.  The  butler 
respectfully  assisted  him,  but  it  would  have  given 
him  great  satisfaction  to  beat  the  man,  or  to  weep. 
Bazaroff  took  his  place  in  the  tarantas.  When 
they  reached  the  Khokhloff  settlement,  Arkady 
waited  until  Feodot,  the  keeper  of  the  posting- 
station,  had  harnessed  the  horses,  and,  approach- 
ing the  tarantas,  said  to  Bazaroff  with  his  smile 
as  of  old,  "  Evgeny,  take  me  with  thee ;  I  want 
to  go  to  thy  house." 

"  Get  in,"— articulated  Bazaroff  between  his 
teeth. 

Sitnikoff,  who  was  walking  up  and  down,  whis- 

189 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

tling  energetically  around  the  wheels  of  his  calash, 
merely  gaped  when  he  heard  these  words,  but  Ar- 
kady coolly  took  his  things  out  of  the  calash, 
seated  himself  beside  Bazaroff,— and,  politely  sa- 
luting his  previous  travelling  companion,  shouted, 
"  Drive  on!  "  The  tarantas  rolled  off  and  soon 
disappeared  from  view.  .  .  .  Sitnikoff,  thor- 
oughly discomfited,  looked  at  his  coachman,  but 
the  latter  was  making  the  tail  of  his  whip-lash 
play  over  the  side  horse.  Then  Sitnikoff  sprang 
into  his  calash,  and  thundering  out  at  two  passing 
peasants:  "Put  on  your  caps,  you  fools!"— 
dragged  himself  off  to  the  town,  where  he  arrived 
very  late,  and  where,  on  the  following  day  at 
Madame  Kukshin's,  the  two  "  disgusting,  proud 
boors  "  caught  it  heavily. 

As  he  took  his  seat  in  the  tarantas  beside  Baza- 
roff, Arkady  pressed  his  hand  warmly,  and  for  a 
long  time  said  nothing.  Bazaroff  appeared  to 
understand  and  value  both  the  pressure  and  the 
silence.  He  had  not  slept  all  the  preceding  night, 
and  for  several  days  past  he  had  not  smoked, 
and  had  eaten  almost  nothing.  His  haggard 
profile  stood  out  gloomily  and  sharply  from  be- 
neath his  cap,  which  was  pulled  down  over  his 
eyes. 

"  Well,  brother,"— he  said  at  last,—"  give  me 
a  cigar.  .  .  .  And  look,  see  if  my  tongue  is 
yellow." 

"  It  is,"— replied  Arkady. 
190 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Well,   yes, and   the   cigar   has   no 

flavour.    The  machine  is  out  of  order." 

"  Thou  really  hast  changed  of  late,"— re- 
marked Arkady. 

"  Never  mind!  we  shall  right  ourselves.  One 
thing  is  a  bore,— my  mother  is  such  a  tender- 
hearted woman:  if  your  paunch  has  n't  grown  big 
and  you  don't  eat  ten  times  a  day,  she  simply 
pines.  Well,  my  father  is  all  right;  he  has  been 
through  all  sorts  of  things  himself.  No,  it 
is  impossible  to  smoke," — he  added,  and  flung  his 
cigar  into  the  dust  of  the  highway. 

"  It  is  twenty-five  versts  to  thy  estate?  "—asked 
Arkady. 

"  Yes.  But  ask  that  wiseacre  there."— He 
pointed  at  the  peasant  on  the  box,  Feodot's  hired 
man. 

But  the  wiseacre  replied:  "  Who  knows?— the 
versts  are  not  measured," — with  his  queer  accent, 
and  went  on  reviling  the  shaft-horse  because  it 
jerked  its  head. 

"  Yes,  yes,"— began  Bazaroff*,— "  a  lesson  for 
you,  my  young  friend,  a  sort  of  edifying  example. 
The  devil  knows  what  nonsense  it  is !  Every  man 
hangs  on  a  hair,  the  abyss  may  yawn  beneath  him 
at  any  moment,  and  he  invents  all  sorts  of  un- 
pleasant things  for  himself  to  boot;  he  ruins  his 
own  life.'* 

"  At  what  art  thou  hinting?  "—inquired  Ar- 
kady. 

19] 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  'm  not  hinting  at  anything ;  I  'm  saying 
straight  out  that  both  you  and  I  have  been  be- 
having very  stupidly.  What 's  the  use  of  explain- 
ing! But  I  have  already  observed  in  the  clinic 
that  if  any  one  gets  angry  at  his  pain,  that  man  in- 
faUibly  conquers  it." 

"  I  do  not  understand  thee  in  the  least,"— said 
Arkady.—"  I  should  not  think  thou  hadst  any 
cause  to  complain." 

"  And  if  thou  dost  not  understand  me  in  the 
least,  then  I  will  tell  thee  this :  In  my  opinion,  it 
is  better  to  break  stones  on  the  highway  than  to 
permit  a  woman  to  take  possession  of  even  so 
much  as  the  tip  of  thy  finger.    That 's  all.  .  ." 

Bazaroff  came  near  uttering  his  favourite 
word,  "  romanticism"— but  restrained  himself, 
and  said,  "  nonsense. — Thou  wilt  not  believe  me 
now,  but  I  will  tell  thee:  thou  and  I  have  fallen 
into  feminine  society,  and  we  have  found  it  agree- 
able; but  to  abandon  such  society  is  like  drench- 
ing one's  self  with  cold  water  on  a  hot  day.— A 
man  has  no  time  to  occupy  himself  with  such 
trifles ;  a  man  ought  to  be  ferocious,  says  a  capital 
Spanish  proverb.  I  suppose,  wiseacre," — he 
added,  addressing  the  peasant  on  the  box,—"  that 
thou  hast  a  wife?  " 

The  peasant  exhibited  his  flat,  mole-eyed  face 
to  the  two  friends. 

"  A  wife?  Yes.  How  could  I  be  without  a 
wife?" 

192 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Dost  thou  beat  her?  " 

"  My  wife?  All  sorts  of  things  happen.  We 
don't  beat  her  without  cause." 

"  And  that  is  well.  Well,  and  does  she  beat 
thee?" 

The  peasant  twitched  the  reins. — "  What  a 
word  thou  hast  said,  master.  Thou  wilt  keep  jest- 
ing. .  .  ."    Obviously,  he  was  offended. 

Arkady  laughed  in  a  constrained  way,  and  Ba- 
zarofF  turned  aside  and  never  opened  his  mouth 
again  the  whole  way. 

The  five  and  twenty  versts  seemed  to  Arkady 
fully  fifty.  But  at  last,  on  the  declivity  of  a  slop- 
ing hill,  a  tiny  hamlet  was  revealed  to  view,  where 
dwelt  the  parents  of  Bazaroff.  Alongside  of  it, 
in  a  young  birch  grove,  a  small  manor-house  with 
a  thatched  roof  was  visible.  By  the  first  cottage 
stood  two  peasants  with  their  caps  on  quarrelling. 
"  Thou  art  a  big  hog," — said  one  to  the  other. — 
"  But  thou  art  worse  than  a  small  sucking-pig." 
— "  And  thy  wife  is  a  witch,"  retorted  the  other. 

"  From  the  unceremoniousness  of  their  inter- 
course,"— remarked  Bazaroff  to  Arkady, — "  and 
from  the  playful  turns  of  their  speech,  thou  canst 
judge  that  my  father's  serfs  are  not  too  much  op- 
pressed. But  yonder  is  he  himself  coming  out 
on  the  porch  of  his  dwelling.  He  must  have 
heard  the  carriage-bell.  'T  is  he,  't  is  he, — I  rec- 
ognise his  figure.  Ehe,  he!  but  how  grey  he  has 
grown,  poor  man! " 

193 


XX 

Bazaroff  leaned  out  of  the  tarantas,  and  Arkady 
thrust  his  head  out  behind  his  friend's  back  and 
perceived  on  the  little  porch  of  the  manor-house 
a  tail,  thin  man,  with  dishevelled  hair,  and  a  thin, 
aquihne  nose,  clad  in  an  old  military  coat  open  on 
the  breast.  He  was  standing  with  his  legs  far 
apart  smoking  a  long  pipe  and  blinking  at  the 
sun. 

The  horses  came  to  a  halt. 

"  Thou  art  come,  at  last,"— said  Bazaroff's 
father,  still  continuing  to  smoke,  although  his 
chibouque  fairly  leaped  in  his  fingers.—"  Come, 
get  out,  get  out,  we  will  embrace  and  kiss." 

He  began  to  embrace  his  son.  ..."  Eniusha, 
Eniusha,"  rang  out  a  quavering  female  voice. 
The  door  flew  open  and  on  the  threshold  appeared 
a  plump,  short  old  woman,  in  a  white  cap,  and  a 
short,  motley-hued  jacket.  She  cried  out  and 
staggered,  and  certainly  would  have  fallen  had 
not  Bazaroff  supported  her.  Her  plump  arms 
instantly  twined  themselves  around  his  neck,  her 
head  pressed  close  to  his  breast,  and  all  became 
still.    Nothing  was  audible,  save  her  broken  sobs. 

Old  Bazaroff  drew  deep  breaths  and  blinked 
worse  than  before. 

194) 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Come,  enough,  enough,  Arishal  stop,*'— he 
said,  exchanging  a  glance  with  Arkady,  who  stood 
motionless  by  the  tarantas,  while  the  peasant  on 
the  box  even  turned  away:—"  This  is  not  in  the 
least  necessary !  please  stop." 

"  Akh,  Vasfly  Ivanitch," — stammered  the  old 
woman,—"  it 's  an  age  since  I  have  seen  my  dar- 
ling, my  Eniiishenka  .  .  ."  and,  without  releas- 
ing her  arms,  she  turned  her  face,  all  wet  with 
tears,  agitated  and  moved,  from  Bazaroff,  gazed 
at  him  with  bhssful  and  comical  eyes,  and  again 
fell  upon  his  breast. 

"  Well,  yes,  of  course,  this  is  all  in  the  nature  of 
things,"— said  Vasfly  Ivanitch,— "  only  we  had 
better  go  into  the  house.  A  visitor  has  come  with 
Evgeny.  Excuse  me,"— he  added,  turning  to 
Arkady,  and  with  a  slight  scrape  of  the  foot,— 
"  you  understand  woman's  weakness ;  well,  and 
the  mother's  heart " 

But  his  own  Hps  and  eyebrows  were  twitching 
and  his  chin  was  quivering ;  .  .  .  .  but  he  was  evi- 
dently trying  to  control  himself  and  to  appear 
almost  indifferent.    Arkady  saluted  him. 

"  Come,  mother,  really  now,"— said  Bazaroff, 
and  led  the  feeble  old  woman  into  the  house. 
After  seating  her  in  a  comfortable  arm-chair,  he 
once  more  hastily  embraced  his  father,  and  intro- 
duced Arkady  to  him. 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  to  make  your  acquain- 
tance,"—said  Vasfly  Ivanovitch,— "  only  be  not 

195 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

exacting:  everything  here  in  my  house  is  simple, 
on  a  military  footing.  Arina  Vlasievna,  do  me 
the  favour  to  calm  thyself:  what  pusillanimity  is 
this?    Our  guest  must  think  hardly  of  thee." 

"  Dear  little  father,"— said  the  old  woman, 
through  her  tears:— "I  have  not  the  honour  to 
know  your  name  and  patronymic " 

"  Arkady  Nikolaitch,"  Vasily  Ivanitch  pom- 
pously prompted  her,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Excuse  me,  I  'm  stupid."  The  old  woman 
blew  her  nose  and,  bending  her  head  now  to  the 
right,  now  to  the  left,  carefully  wiped  first  one 
eye,  then  the  other.  "  You  must  excuse  me.  You 
see  I  thought  I  should  die  before  I  saw  my 
da  ...  a  ...  a  .  .  arling." 

"  But  now  you  have  lived  to  see  him,  madam," 
—put  in  Vasily  Ivanitch. — "  Taniushka,"  he  said, 
addressing  a  barefooted  girl  of  thirteen,  in  a 
bright  scarlet  print  gown,  who  was  peeping  tim- 
idly from  behind  the  door,—"  fetch  the  mistress 
a  glass  of  water— on  a  salver,  dost  thou  hear?— 
and  you,  gentlemen,"— he  added,  with  a  certain 
old-fashioned  playfulness,—"  allow  me  to  invite 
you  into  the  study  of  a  veteran  in  retreat." 

"  Let  me  hug  thee  just  a  little  more,  Eni- 
lishetchka,"— moaned  Arina  Vlasievna.  Baz- 
aroif  bent  over  her.  "  But  what  a  beauty  thou 
hast  grown  to  be  I " 

"  Well,  he  's  not  exactly  a  beauty,"— remarked 
Vasily  Ivanitch;—"  but  he  's  a  man;  as  the  say- 

196 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

ing  is,  homme  fait.  But  now,  I  hope,  Arina 
Vld,sievna,  that,  after  having  satiated  thy  ma- 
ternal heart,  thou  wilt  attend  to  the  feeding 
of  thy  dear  guests,  because,  as  thou  knowest,  it  is 
not  fitting  to  feed  a  nightingale  on  fables."  ^ 

The  old  woman  rose  from  her  chair. — "  This 
very  moment,  Vasily  Ivanitch,  the  table  will  be 
set;  I  will  run  to  the  kitchen  myself  and  order 
the  samovar  to  be  prepared ;  they  shall  have  every- 
thing, everything.  Why,  it 's  three  years  since  I 
saw  him,  fed  him,  gave  him  to  drink,  and  is  that 
easy  to  bear?  " 

"  Well,  see  to  it,  housewife ;  bustle  about  and 
do  not  put  thyself  to  shame ;  and  do  you,  gentle- 
men, be  so  good  as  to  follow  me.  Here  's  Timo- 
feitch  has  presented  himself  to  greet  thee,  Ev- 
geny.  And  he 's  delighted,  I  think,  the  old 
watch-dog.  What?  thou  art  delighted,  art  thou 
not,  old  watch-dog?    I  pray  you  to  follow  me." 

And  Vasily  Ivanitch  bustled  on  ahead,  shuffling 
and  dragging  his  patched  slippers. 

His  entire  little  house  consisted  of  six  tiny 
rooms.  One  of  them,  the  one  into  which  he  led 
our  friends,  was  called  the  study.  A  fat-legged 
table,  with  an  accumulation  of  dust  which  had 
turned  black  with  age,  with  documents  which 
looked  as  though  they  had  been  smoked,  occupied 
the  entire  space  between  the  two  windows ;  on  the 
walls  hung  Turkish  guns,  kazak  whips,  sabres, 

1  *'Fair  words  butter  no  parsnips."— Thakslatob. 

197 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

two  maps,  several  anatomical  drawings,  a  portrait 
of  Hufeland,  a  monogram  of  hair  in  a  black 
frame,  and  a  diploma  under  glass;  a  leather- 
covered  couch,  crushed  down  and  tattered  in 
spots,  stood  between  two  huge  cupboards  of  Kare- 
lian birch  wood;  on  the  shelves,  in  disorder,  were 
crowded  books,  small  boxes,  stuffed  birds,  bottles 
and  phials ;  in  one  corner  stood  a  broken  electrical 
machine. 

"  I  warned  you,  my  dear  visitor,"— began 
Vasily  Ivanitch,— "  that  we  live  here,  so  to  speak, 
in  bivouac.  .  ." 

"  Come,  stop  that,  why  dost  thou  make  apolo- 
gies ?  " — interrupted  Bazaroff . — "  Kirsanoff  is 
very  well  aware  that  thou  and  I  are  not  Croesuses, 
and  that  thou  hast  not  a  palace.  Where  are  we  to 
put  him,  that 's  the  question?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  Evgeny ;  there  is  a  capital 
chamber  yonder  in  my  wing;  he  will  be  very  com- 
fortable there." 

"  So  thou  hast  set  up  a  wing?  " 

"  Of  course,  sir;  where  the  bath  is,  sir,"— put  in 
Timofeitch. 

"  That  is  to  say,  alongside  the  bath,"— hastily 
subjoined  Vasily  Ivanitch.—"  But  it  is  sunmier 
now.  ...  I  '11  run  over  there  at  once  and  arrange 
things;  and,  in  the  meantime,  Timofeitch,  thou 
hadst  better  bring  in  their  things.  Of  course  I 
place  my  study  at  thy  disposal,  Evgeny.  Suum 
cuique" 

198 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  There  you  have  it  1  A  very  amusing  old  man, 
and  as  kind  as  possible," — added  Bazaroif,  as 
soon  as  Vasily  Ivanitch  left  the  room. — "  Just 
such  another  eccentric  as  thy  father,  only  after 
another  fashion.    He  chatters  a  great  deal." 

"And  thy  mother,  apparently,  is  a  very  fine 
woman,"— remarked  Arkady. 

"  Yes,  she  's  a  guileless  creature.  Just  watch 
what  a  dinner  she  '11  give  us  I  " 

"  You  were  not  expected  to-day,  dear  little 
father;  they  have  brought  no  beef,"— said  Timo- 
f  eitch,  who  had  just  dragged  in  Bazaroif 's  trunk. 

"  We  '11  get  along  without  the  beef;  if  there  is 
none,  it  cannot  be  helped.  Poverty,  as  the  adage 
goes,  is  no  crime." 

"  How  many  souls  *  has  thy  father?  "—sud- 
denly inquired  Arkady. 

"  The  estate  does  not  belong  to  him,  but  to  my 
mother;  there  are  fifteen  souls,  if  I  remember 
rightly." 

"  There  are  twenty-two  in  all,"— remarked 
Timof  eitch  with  displeasure. 

The  scuffling  of  slippers  became  audible,  and 
Vasily  Ivanitch  made  his  appearance  again.  "  In 
a  few  minutes  your  chamber  will  be  ready  to  re- 
ceive you," — he  exclaimed  triumphantly, — "  Ar- 
kady ....  Nikolaitch?  I  believe  that  is  what 
you  deign  to  be  called?  And  here  's  a  servant  for 
you," — he  added,  pointing  at  a  boy  with  closely- 

*  Male  serfs.— Tbanslatob. 

199 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

clipped  hair  in  a  blue  kaftan  which  was  torn  on 
the  elbows,  and  some  one  else's  shoes,  who  had 
entered  with  him.—"  His  name  is  Fedka.  Again 
I  repeat  it, — although  my  son  forbids  me, — be  not 
exacting.  However,  he  knows  how  to  fill  a  pipe. 
You  smoke,  of  course?  " 

"  I  smoke  chiefly  cigars," — replied  Arkady. 

"  And  you  behave  very  sensibly.  I  myself  give 
the  preference  to  cigars,  but  in  our  remote  region 
it  is  extremely  difficult  to  obtain  them." 

"  Come,  have  done  with  singing  Lazarus,"— in- 
terrupted Bazar  off  once  more.  "  Thou  hadst 
better  sit  down  there  on  the  couch  and  let  me  have 
a  look  at  thee. 

Vasily  Ivanitch  laughed  and  sat  down.  He 
greatly  resembled  his  son  in  face,  only  his  fore- 
head was  lower  and  narrower  and  his  mouth  some- 
what wider,  and  he  kept  in  incessant  motion, 
twitched  his  shoulders  as  though  his  coat  cut  him 
under  the  arms,  winked,  coughed  and  twiddled  his 
fingers,  while  his  son  was  distinguished  from  him 
by  a  certain  careless  impassivity. 

"  Singing  Lazarus!  "—repeated  Vasfly  Ivan- 
itch.  "  Thou  must  not  think,  Evgeny,  that  I  am 
trying  to  move  our  guest  to  pity,  so  to  speak;  as 
much  as  to  say, — just  see  in  what  a  desolate  hole 
we  Uve.  On  the  contrary,  I  hold  the  opinion  that 
for  a  rational  man  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  deso- 
late hole.    At  all  events,  I  try,  to  the  extent  of  my 

200 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

ability,  not  to  get  moss-grown,  as  the  saying  is, 
not  to  lag  behind  the  age." 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  pulled  from  his  pocket  a  new 
yellow  bandana  handkerchief,  which  he  had  con- 
trived to  catch  up  as  he  ran  to  Arkady's  room, 
and  proceeded  as  he  flourished  it  in  the  air:— "  I 
am  not  speaking  of  the  fact  that  I,  for  example, 
not  without  sensible  sacrifices  on  my  own  part, 
have  put  my  peasants  on  quit-rent  and  have  given 
them  my  lands  by  halves.  I  regarded  that  as  my 
duty,  conmion  sense  itself  commands  it  in  this 
case,  although  other  proprietors  are  not  even 
thinking  of  it:  I  am  speaking  of  the  sciences  of 
culture." 

"  Yes ;  I  see  thou  hast  yonder  *  The  Friend  of 
Health  '  for  1855,"  remarked  Bazaroff". 

"  A  comrade  sent  it  to  me,  for  old  acquain- 
tance's sake," — said  Vasfly  Ivanitch; — "but  we 
have  some  conception  of  phrenology," — he  added, 
addressing  himself,  however,  more  particularly  to 
Arkady,  and  pointing  at  a  small  plaster  head 
which  stood  on  the  cupboard  broken  up  into  num- 
bered squares. — "  Schonlein  also  has  not  re- 
mained unknown  to  us — and  Rademacher." 

"  And  do  people  still  believe  in  Rademacher  in 
the  *  *  *  Government?  "  asked  BazarofF. 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  began  to  cough. — "  In  the 
Government  ....  Of  course,  gentlemen,  you 
know  best;  how  can  we  vie  with  you?    You  have 

201 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

come  to  supersede  us,  you  see.  And  in  my  time, 
also,  a  certain  humouralist  Hoffman,  and  a  cer- 
tain Brown,  with  his  vitalism,  seemed  very  ridicu- 
lous, but  they  had  made  a  great  noise  once  upon  a 
time.  Some  new  person  has  taken  Rademacher's 
place  with  you;  you  bow  down  before  him,  and 
twenty  years  hence,  probably,  people  will  laugh  at 
him  also." 

"  I  will  tell  thee,  for  thy  consolation," — said 
Bazaroff, — "  that  nowadays  we  laugh  at  medi- 
cine in  general,  and  we  bow  down  before  no  one." 

"  How  is  that?  Surely  thou  art  going  to  be  a 
doctor? " 

"  I  am,  but  the  one  does  not  prevent  the  other." 

Vasily  Ivanitch  poked  his  third  finger  into  his 
pipe,  where  a  httle  burning  ashes  still  hngered.— 
*'  Well,  perhaps,  perhaps — I  will  not  contradict. 
For  what  am  I?— A  retired  staff -doctor,  voila 
tout  J,  and  now  turned  agriculturist. — I  served  in 
your  grandfather's  brigade," — he  addressed  him- 
self once  more  to  Arkady.—"  Yes,  sir;  yes,  sir; 
I  have  seen  many  sights  in  my  day.  And  in  what 
company  have  not  I  been,  with  whom  have  not  I 
consorted!— I,  this  very  I,  whom  you  are  pleased 
to  see  before  you,  I  have  felt  the  pulse  of  Prince 
Wittgenstein  and  of  Zhukovsky  I  I  used  to  know 
every  one  of  those  men,  in  the  army  of  the  South, 
in  the  year  'fourteen,  you  understand "  (here 
Vasily  Ivanitch  pursed  up  his  lips  significantly). 
"  Well,  and  of  course  my  business  lay  apart ; 

202 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

know  how  to  use  your  lancet  and  that 's  enough  I 
But  your  grandfather  was  a  very  greatly  re- 
spected man,  a  genuine  warrior." 

"  Confess,  he  was  a  good  deal  of  a  blockhead," 
— said  BazarofF  lazily. 

"  Akh,  Evgeny,  how  thou  dost  express  thyself  1 
do  show  mercy.  .  .  Of  course  General  KirsanoiF 
did  not  belong  to  the  number  .  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  drop  him," — interrupted  BazarofF.— 
"  As  I  drove  hither  I  rejoiced  at  thy  birch  grove; 
it  has  spread  splendidly." 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  grew  animated.— "And  see 
what  a  nice  little  garden  I  have  now  I  I  planted 
every  tree  myself.  There  are  fruits  in  it  and  ber- 
ries, and  all  sorts  of  medicinal  herbs.  Be  as  art- 
ful as  you  may,  young  gentlemen,  nevertheless 
old  Paracelsus  uttered  the  sacred  truth :  in  herhis, 
verbis  et  lapidihus.  .  .  For  I,  as  thou  knowest, 
have  given  up  practice  and  am  obliged  to  recall 
my  youth  a  couple  of  times  a  week.  People  come 
for  advice, — one  cannot  turn  them  out  neck  and 
crop.  It  sometimes  happens  that  poor  people 
come  for  aid.  And  there  are  no  doctors  at  all 
here.  One  of  the  neighbours,  just  fancy,  a  retired 
major,  also  makes  cures.  I  ask  about  him:  has 
he  studied  medicine?  I  am  told:  no,  he  has  not 
studied;  he  does  it  mainly  from  philanthropic 
motives.  .  .  .  Ha,  ha,  from  philanthropic  mo- 
tives! Hey?  What  do  you  think  of  that?  Ha, 
ha  I  Ha,  ha  I" 

203 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Fedka!  fill  my  pipe!  "  said  Bazaroff  sharply. 

"  And  sometimes  another  doctor  here  comes  to 
the  patient," — went  on  Vasfly  Ivanitch,  with  a 
sort  of  desperation, — "  but  the  patient  has  already 
departed  ad  patres;  and  his  servant  does  not  ad- 
mit the  doctor;  he  says:  *  You  're  not  needed  now.' 
The  doctor  has  not  expected  that;  he  gets  con- 
fused, and  asks :  *  Did  your  master  hiccough  be- 
fore his  death? '— *  He  did,  sir.'—*  And  did  he  hic- 
cough a  great  deal? '— '  Yes.'—'  Ah,  well,  that 's 
good,' — and  right  about  face  back.    Ha,  ha,  ha!  " 

The  old  man  was  the  only  one  who  laughed; 
Arkady  indicated  a  smile  on  his  face.  Bazaroff 
merely  stretched  himself.  The  conversation  was 
prolonged  after  this  fashion  for  about  an  hour; 
Arkady  managed  to  get  away  to  his  room,  which 
proved  to  be  the  anteroom  of  the  bath,  but  very 
comfortable  and  clean.  At  last  Taniusha  entered 
and  announced  that  dinner  was  ready. 

Vasily  Ivanitch  was  the  first  to  rise. — "  Come, 
gentlemen!  Be  so  generous  as  to  forgive  me, 
if  you  have  been  bored.  Perhaps  my  housewife 
will  satisfy  you  better  than  I  have  done." 

The  dinner,  although  hastily  prepared,  turned 
out  to  be  very  good,  even  abundant ;  only  the  wine 
was  rather  bad:  the  almost  black  sherry,  pur- 
chased by  Timofeitch  in  the  town  from  a  mer- 
chant of  his  acquaintance,  had  a  flavour  which  was 
not  precisely  that  of  brass,  nor  yet  of  resin ;  and 
the  flies  too  were  a  nuisance.    At  ordinary  times 

204 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

the  boy  house-serf  drove  them  off  with  a  big  green 
bough;  but  on  this  occasion  Vasily  Ivanitch  had 
sent  him  away  for  fear  of  criticism  on  the  part  of 
the  younger  generation.  Arina  Vlasievna  had 
succeeded  in  arraying  herself;  she  had  donned  a 
tall  cap  with  silken  ribbons,  and  a  blue  shawl  with 
a  flowered  pattern.  She  fell  to  weeping  again  as 
soon  as  she  caught  sight  of  her  Eniusha,  but  her 
husband  was  not  obliged  to  exhort  her :  she  wiped 
her  tears  away  as  promptly  as  possible,  lest  she 
should  spoil  her  shawl.  The  young  men  alone 
ate:  the  master  and  mistress  of  the  house  had 
dined  long  before.  Fedka  waited  on  them,  evi- 
dently oppressed  by  his  unwonted  boots,  and  he 
was  assisted  by  a  woman  with  a  masculine  face, 
who  was  also  blind  of  one  eye,  Anfisushka  by 
name,  who  discharged  the  duties  of  housekeeper, 
poultry-woman  and  laundress.  Vasfly  Ivanitch 
paced  up  and  down  the  room  during  the  whole 
duration  of  the  dinner,  and  with  a  thoroughly 
happy  and  even  blissful  aspect  talked  about  the 
grave  apprehensions  with  which  the  policy  of  Na- 
poleon inspired  him  and  the  complications  of  the 
Italian  question.  Arina  Vlasievna  did  not  per- 
ceive Arkady,  did  not  urge  him  to  eat ;  with  her  fist 
propping  up  her  round  face,  to  which  her  puffy, 
cherry-coloured  lips  and  the  moles  on  her  cheeks 
and  above  her  eyebrows  imparted  a  very  good- 
natured  expression,  she  never  took  her  eyes  off 
her  son,  and  sighed  constantly;  she  was  dying 

205 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

to  find  out  for  how  long  a  time  he  had  come,  but 
she  was  afraid  to  ask  him.  "  Well,  he  will  say— 
*  For  a  couple  of  days,'  "  she  thought,  and  her 
heart  died  within  her.  After  the  roast,  Vasily 
Ivanitch  disappeared  for  a  moment  and  returned 
with  an  uncorked  half  bottle  of  champagne. 
"Here," — he  exclaimed, — "although  we  do  hve 
in  the  wilds,  still,  on  festive  occasions,  we  have 
something  wherewith  to  cheer  ourselves  I "  He 
poured  out  three  glasses  and  a  wine-glass  full, 
proposed  the  health  "  of  our  inestimable  visitors," 
and  having  tossed  off  his  glass  at  once  in  miUtary 
fashion,  he  made  Arina  Vlasievna  drain  her  wine- 
glass to  the  last  drop.  When  the  preserves  were 
brought  on,  Arkady,  who  could  not  endure  any- 
thing sweet,  nevertheless  considered  it  his  duty  to 
taste  four  different  sorts,  the  more  so  as  Bazaroff 
flatly  declined  them,  and  immediately  hghted  a 
cigar.  Then  tea  made  its  appearance  on  the 
scene,  accompanied  by  cream,  butter  and  crack- 
nels; then  Vasfly  Ivanitch  led  them  all  into  the 
garden,  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  evening.  As 
they  passed  a  bench  he  whispered  to  Arkady,— 
"  On  this  spot  I  love  to  philosophise,  as  I  gaze 
at  the  sunset:  that  is  befitting  a  hermit.  And 
further  on,  yonder,  I  have  planted  several  of  the 
trees  beloved  by  Horace." 

"  What  sort  of  trees?  "—asked  Bazdroff,  who 
was  listening. 

"  Why  ....  acacias,  of  course." 
206 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Bazaroff  began  to  yawn. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  time  for  the  travellers  to  be- 
take themselves  to  the  arms  of  Morpheus,"— re- 
marked Vasfly  Ivanitch. 

"  That  is  to  say,  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed," — put 
in  Bazaroff. — "  That  reasoning  is  correct.  It  is 
time,  in  fact." 

When  he  bade  his  mother  good-night,  he  kissed 
her  on  the  brow,— and  she  embraced  him  and 
blessed  him  thrice  with  the  sign  of  the  cross 
stealthily  behind  his  back.  Vasfly  Ivanitch 
escorted  Arkady  to  his  chamber  and  wished 
him  "  the  same  sort  of  beneficent  repose  which 
I  used  to  enjoy  at  your  age."  And,  in  fact, 
Arkady  slept  capitally  in  his  bath  vestibule. 
It  was  redolent  of  mint,  and  two  crickets  vied 
with  each  other  in  chirping  away  soporifically 
behind  the  stove.  Vasfly  Ivanitch,  on  leav- 
ing Arkady,  went  to  his  study,  and  curling 
himself  up  on  the  couch  at  his  son's  feet,  prepared 
to  have  a  chat  with  him;  but  Bazaroff  inmiedi- 
ately  sent  him  away,  saying  that  he  felt  sleepy; 
but  he  did  not  get  to  sleep  until  morning.  With 
widely-opened  eyes  he  stared  angrily  into  the 
darkness:  memories  of  his  childhood  had  no  do- 
minion over  him,  and,  moreover,  he  had  not  yet 
succeeded  in  detaching  himself  from  his  last  bit- 
ter impressions.  Arfna  Vlasievna  first  prayed  to 
her  heart's  content ;  then  she  had  a  long,  long  con- 
ference with  Anf fsushka,  who,  standing  in  front 

207 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

of  her  mistress  as  though  rooted  to  the  spot  and 
with  her  solitary  eye  riveted  upon  her,  commu- 
nicated to  her  in  a  mysterious  whisper  all  her  ob- 
servations and  conclusions  regarding  Evgeny 
Vasilievitch.  The  old  lady's  head  was  all  in  a 
whirl  from  joy,  wine,  and  cigar-smoke;  her  hus- 
band tried  to  talk  to  her,  but  gave  it  up  in  despair. 
Arina  Vlasievna  was  a  genuine  Russian  gentle- 
woman of  the  petty  nobility  of  days  gone  by ;  she 
ought  to  have  lived  a  couple  of  hundred  years  ear- 
lier, in  the  times  of  ancient  Moscow.  She  was  very 
devout  and  sentimental,  she  believed  in  all  sorts 
of  omens,  divinations,  spells,  dreams ;  she  believed 
in  holy  simpletons,^  in  house-demons,  in  forest- 
demons,  in  evil  encounters,  in  the  evil  eye,  in  pop- 
ular remedies,  in  salt  prepared  in  a  special  man- 
ner on  Great  Thursday  ^  in  the  speedy  end  of 
the  world;  she  believed  that  if  the  tapers  did  not 
go  out  at  the  Vigil  Service  at  Easter  the  buck- 
wheat would  bear  a  heavy  crop,  and  that  a  mush- 
room will  not  grow  any  more  if  a  human  eye 
descries  it;  she  believed  that  the  devil  is  fond  of 
being  where  there  is  water,  and  that  every  Jew 
has  a  bloody  spot  on  his  breast ;  she  was  afraid  of 
mice,  snakes,  frogs,  sparrows,  leeches,  thunder, 
cold  water,  draughts,  horses,  goats,  red-haired 
people,  and  black  cats,  and  regarded  crickets  and 

^  Half-witted  men  were  formerly  regarded  in  Russia  as  divinely 
inspired,  almost  in  the  light  of  prophets.— Translator. 

-  The  Thursday  before  Good  Friday :  called  Maundy  Thursday  in 
Uie  Western  Church.— Translator. 

208 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

dogs  as  unclean  animals ;  she  ate  neither  veal,  nor 
pigeons,^  nor  crabs,  nor  cheese,  nor  asparagus,  nor 
artichokes,  nor  watermelons,  because  a  water- 
melon when  it  is  cut  reminds  one  of  the  head  of 
John  the  Baptist;  and  she  never  mentioned  oys- 
ters otherwise  than  with  a  shudder ;  she  was  fond 
of  eating — and  fasted  strictly;  she  slept  ten  hours 
a  day — and  never  went  to  bed  at  all  if  Vasily 
Ivanitch  had  a  headache;  she  had  never  read  a 
single  book,  except  "  Alexis,  or  the  Cottage  in  the 
Forest  " ;  she  wrote  one  letter,  at  the  most  two  let- 
ters, a  year;  but  she  was  an  expert  in  dried  and 
preserved  fruits,  although  she  never  put  her  own 
hand  to  anything,  and,  in  general,  was  reluctant 
to  move  from  one  spot.  Arina  Vlasievna  was 
very  good-natured,  and,  in  her  own  way,  not  at 
all  stupid.  She  knew  that  there  are  in  the  world 
gentlemen  whose  duty  it  is  to  command,  and  com- 
mon people  whose  duty  it  is  to  obey, — and  there- 
fore she  did  not  disdain  either  obsequiousness  or 
lowly  reverences  to  the  earth ;  but  she  treated  her 
inferiors  graciously  and  gently;  she  never  let  a 
beggar  pass  without  a  gift,  and  she  never  con- 
demned any  one,  although  she  did  occasionally 
indulge  in  gossip.  In  her  youth  she  had  been 
very  pretty,  had  played  on  the  clavichord,  and  had 
spoken  a  little  French;  but  in  the  course  of  wan- 
derings, which  extended  over  many  years,  with  her 

^  The  dove  being  the  symbol  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  majority  of 
Russians  will  neither  kill  nor  eat  pigeons. — Trakslator. 

209 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

husband,  whom  she  had  married  against  her  will, 
she  had  deteriorated  and  had  forgotten  her  music 
and  her  French.  She  loved  and  feared  her  son 
unspeakably ;  she  allowed  Vasily  Ivanitch  to  man- 
age her  estate, — and  never  required  an  accounting 
for  anything:  she  groaned,  waved  the  subject 
away  with  her  handkerchief  and  kept  raising  her 
eyebrows  higher  and  higher,  as  soon  as  Vasily 
Ivanitch  began  to  explain  impending  reforms 
and  his  plans.  She  was  given  to  forebodings,  was 
constantly  expecting  some  great  catastrophe,  and 
fell  to  weeping  the  moment  she  called  to  mind 
anything  mournful.  .  .  Such  women  are  now  be- 
coming extinct.  God  knows  whether  we  ought 
to  rejoice  at  it  I 


210 


XXI 

When  he  got  out  of  bed  Arkady  opened  the  win- 
dow,—and  the  first  object  which  met  his  eyes  was 
Vasfly  Ivanitch.  Clad  in  a  dressing-gown  from 
Bukhara,  girt  with  a  handkerchief,  the  old  man 
was  engaged  in  digging  assiduously  in  his  vege- 
table garden.  He  caught  sight  of  his  young  vis- 
itor, and  leaning  on  his  spade,  he  exclaimed: — "  I 
wish  you  health !  How  have  you  been  pleased  to 
sleep?" 

*'  Splendidly,"  answered  Arkady. 

"  And  here  am  I,  as  you  see,  Hke  some  sort  of 
a  Cincinnatus,  preparing  a  bed  for  late  radishes. 
The  times  are  such — and  glory  to  God  for  it! — 
that  every  one  is  bound  to  earn  his  living  with  his 
own  hands;  no  hopes  are  to  be  placed  on  others: 
one  must  toil  for  himself.  And  it  turns  out  that 
Jean- Jacques  Rousseau  was  right.  Half  an  hour 
ago,  my  dear  sir,  you  would  have  beheld  me  in  a 
totally  different  attitude.  There  was  a  peasant- 
woman  who  complained  of  gneika, — that 's  what 
they  call  it,  but  we  call  it  dysentery, — and  I 

how  shall  I  best  express  it  .  .  I  poured 

opium  into  her ;  and  I  have  pulled  a  tooth  for  an- 
other woman.  I  proposed  to  the  latter  that  she 
should  take  ether,  .  .  .  but  she  would  not  consent. 

211 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

I  do  all  this  graXis—en  amateur j  but  that  is  no 
marvel;  for  I  am  a  plebeian,  homo  novus—l  *m 
not  a  member  of  the  ancient  nobility,  like  my 
spouse.  .  .  .  But  will  not  you  come  hither  into 
the  shade  to  get  a  breath  of  the  morning  fresh- 
ness before  tea? " 

Arkady  went  out  and  joined  him. 

"Welcome,  once  morel"— said  Vasily  Iva- 
nitch,  putting  his  hand,  in  military  fashion,  to  the 
greasy  skull-cap  which  covered  his  head.—"  You 
are  accustomed  to  luxury,  I  know,  to  pleasures, 
but  even  the  great  ones  of  this  world  do  not  dis- 
dain to  spend  a  short  time  under  the  roof  of  the 
cottage." 

"  Good  gracious! " — shouted  Arkady, — "  what 
do  you  mean  by  calling  me  one  of  the  great  ones 
of  this  world?  And  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
luxury." 

"  Pardon  me,  pardon  me,"— retorted  Vasily 
Ivanitch  with  a  pohte  grin. — "  Although  I  am 
now  relegated  to  the  archives,  I  also  have  rubbed 
elbows  with  society — I  know  the  bird  by  its  flight. 
I  am  also  a  psychologist,  in  my  own  way,  and  a 
physiognomist.  Had  I  not  that  gift,  I  venture 
to  say  that  I  would  have  perished  long  ago;  such 
a  small  man  as  myself  would  have  stood  no  chance 
at  all.  I  will  tell  you,  without  compliments:  the 
friendship  which  I  observe  between  you  and  my 
son  affords  me  great  joy.  I  have  already  seen 
him ;  he,  according  to  his  habit,  of  which  you  are 

212 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

probably  aware,  got  up  very  early,  and  scoured 
the  neighbourhood.  Permit  me  to  inquire, — Have 
you  known  my  Evgeny  long?  " 

"  Since  this  last  winter." 

"  Exactly  so,  sir.  And  permit  me  to  ask  you 
another  question, — but  will  not  you  sit  down? — 
Permit  me  to  ask  you,  as  a  father,  in  all  frank- 
ness :  What  opinion  do  you  hold  of  my  Evgeny?  " 

"  Your  son  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men 
whom  I  have  ever  met,"— remarked  Arkady  with 
animation. 

Vasily  Ivanitch's  eyes  suddenly  dilated,  and  a 
faint  flush  overspread  his  cheeks.  The  spade  fell 
from  his  hands. 

"  So  you  assume  .  ."  he  began 

"  I  am  convinced," — interposed  Arkady, — 
"  that  a  great  future  awaits  your  son,  that  he  will 
glorify  your  name.  I  have  been  convinced  of  that 
since  the  very  first  time  I  met  him." 

"  How  .  .  .  how  was  that?  "—Vasily  Ivanitch 
barely  articulated.  A  rapturous  smile  parted  his 
broad  lips  and  did  not  again  depart  from  them. 

"  You  want  to  know  how  we  met?  " 

"  Yes  .  .  and  in  general  .  .  .  ." 

Arkady  began  to  narrate  and  talk  about  Baza- 
roff  with  even  more  fervour,  with  even  more  en- 
thusiasm, than  on  the  evening  when  he  had  danced 
the  mazurka  with  Madame  Odmtzoff . 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  listened  to  him— listened,  blew 
his  nose,  dandled  his  handkerchief  in  both  hands, 

213 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

coughed,  ruffled  up  his  hair— and,  at  last,  could 
contain  himself  no  longer:  he  bent  toward  Ar- 
kady and  kissed  him  on  the  shoulder.^ — "You 
have  made  me  perfectly  happy,"— he  said,  with- 
out ceasing  to  smile.—*'  I  am  bound  to  teU  you 
that  I  .  .  .  adore  my  son ;  I  need  say  nothing  as 
to  my  old  woman:  she  's  his  mother— everybody 
knows  what  that  means! — but  I  dare  not  express 
my  feelings  in  his  presence,  because  he  does  not 
like  that.  He  is  averse  to  all  effusions ;  many  per- 
sons even  condemn  him  for  that  firmness  of  char- 
acter, and  discern  in  it  a  sign  of  pride,  or  absence 
of  feeling;  but  people  hke  him  must  not  be  mea- 
sured with  the  ordinary  yard-stick,  is  n't  that  so? 
Take  this,  for  example:  any  other  man  in  his 
place  would  have  drawn  and  drawn  on  his  par- 
ents; but  he,  will  you  believe  it?  has  never  taken 
an  extra  kopek  from  us  in  his  life,  as  God  is  my 
witness ! " 

"  He  is  an  unselfish,  honourable  man," — re- 
marked Arkady. 

"  Precisely  so,  unselfish.  And  I  not  only  adore 
him,  Arkady  Nikolaitch,  I  am  proud  of  him, 
and  my  whole  pride  consists  in  this,  that  in  course 
of  time  these  words  will  stand  in  his  biography: 
*  he  was  the  son  of  a  simple  staff -doctor,  who, 
nevertheless,  understood  how  to  divine  him  early 
in  life,  and  spared  no  expense  on  his  educa- 
tion. .  .'  "    The  old  man's  voice  broke. 

1  As  serfs  were  wont  to  do  to  their  masters.— Tbanslatob. 

214 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

Arkady  squeezed  his  hand. 

"  What  think  you,"— asked  Vasily  Ivanitch, 
after  a  brief  silence,—"  assuredly  he  will  not 
attain  in  the  medical  career  that  fame  which  you 
prophesy  for  him? " 

"  Of  course  not  in  the  medical  career,  although 
in  that  respect  also  he  will  be  one  of  the  leading 
lights." 

"  In  what  career  then,  Arkady  Nikolaitch?  " 

"  That  is  difficult  to  say  at  present,  but  he  will 
become  famous." 

"  He  will  become  famous!  "—repeated  the  old 
man,  and  became  immersed  in  meditation. 

"  Arma  Vlasievna  has  ordered  me  to  ask  you 
to  drink  tea,"— said  Anfisushka  as  she  passed 
them  with  a  huge  dish  of  ripe  raspberries. 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  started — "  And  will  there  be 
chilled  cream  for  the  raspberries?  " 

"  There  will,  sir." 

"  See  to  it  that  it  is  cold !  Do  not  stand  on  cere- 
mony, Arkady  Nikolaitch, — take  a  lot.  I  won- 
der why  Evgeny  does  not  come." 

"  Here  I  am,"— rang  out  Bazaroff's  voice  from 
Arkady's  room. 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  wheeled  hastily  round.  "  Aha  I 
thou  hast  wished  to  visit  thy  friend,  but  thou  wert 
belated,  amice,  and  he  and  I  have  already  had  a 
long  conversation.  Now  we  must  go  and  drink 
tea :  thy  mother  summons  us.  By  the  way,  I  must 
have  a  talk  with  thee." 

215 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"What  about?" 

"  There  is  a  wretched  peasant  here;  he  is  suf- 
fering from  icterus.  ..." 

"  In  other  words,  from  jaundice?  " 

"  Yes,  from  chronic  and  very  obstinate  icterus, 
I  have  prescribed  for  him  centaury,  and  Saint 
John's  wort,  I  have  made  him  eat  carrots,  I  have 
administered  soda;  but  all  these  are  palliatives; 
something  more  decisive  is  necessary.  Although 
thou  jeerest  at  medicine,  yet  I  am  persuaded  that 
thou  canst  give  me  practical  advice.  But  we  will 
talk  of  that  later.  And  now  let  us  go  and  drink 
tea." 

Vasily  Ivanitch  sprang  up  briskly  from  the 
bench  and  began  to  sing  from  Robert  le  Diable : 

"  We  '11  make  a  law,  a  law,  a  law  unto  ourselves 
In  joy  ...  in  joy  ...  in  joyfulness  to  dwell!  " 

"What  remarkable  vitality!" — said  Bazaroff 
and  he  withdrew  from  the  window. 

Midday  arrived.  The  sun  blazed  from  behind 
a  thin  veil  of  continuous,  whitish  clouds.  Silence 
reigned:  only  the  cocks  crowed  provokingly  at 
each  other  in  the  village,  arousing  in  every  one 
who  heard  them  a  strange  sensation  of  drowsiness 
and  weariness ;  and  somewhere  aloft  in  the  crests 
of  the  trees  resounded  like  a  wailing  call  the  un- 
intermitting  squeak  of  a  young  hawk.  Arkady 
and  Bazaroff  were  lying  in  the  shade  of  a  small 
hay-stack,  having  placed  beneath  themselves  a 

216 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

couple  of  armf uls  of  the  rustlingly-dry,  but  still 
green  and  fragrant  grass. 

"  Yonder  aspen-tree," — began  Bazaroff,  "  re- 
minds me  of  my  childhood ;  it  grows  on  the  brink 
of  a  pit,  the  relic  of  a  brick-shed,  and  at  that  time 
I  was  convinced  that  that  pit  and  the  aspen  pos- 
sessed a  peculiar  talisman:  I  never  felt  bored 
when  I  was  by  their  side.  I  did  not  understand 
then  that  I  was  not  bored,  because  I  was  a  child. 
Well,  now  I  am  grown  up,  and  the  talisman  does 
not  work." 

"  How  much  time  hast  thou  spent  here  alto- 
gether? "—asked  Arkady. 

"  Two  years  in  succession ;  then  we  used  to  come 
here  occasionally.  We  led  a  wandering  life;  we 
used  to  haunt  the  towns  chiefly." 

"  And  has  this  house  been  standing  long? " 

"  Yes.  My  grandfather  built  it,  my  mother's 
father." 

"  Who  was  he— thy  grandfather?  " 

"  The  deuce  knows.  Some  Second-Major  or 
other.  He  served  under  Suvoroff ,  and  was  for- 
ever telling  about  crossing  the  Alps.  He  lied,  I 
suppose." 

"  That 's  why  there  is  a  portrait  of  Suvoroff 
hanging  in  your  drawing-room.  I  like  such  little 
houses  as  yours,  old  and  warm ;  and  there  is  a  cer- 
tain peculiar  odour  in  them." 

*'  It  smacks  of  olive  oil  from  the  shrine-lamp, 
and  sweet  clover," — articulated  Bazaroff  with  a 

217 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

yawn.—*'  But  what  a  lot  of  flies  there  are  in  these 
charming  httle  houses phew  I" 

"  Tell  me,"— began  Arkady,  after  a  brief 
silence,—"  wert  thou  oppressed  in  thy  child- 
hood? " 

"  Thou  seest  what  my  parents  are  like. — 
They  're  not  strict  folks." 

"  Dost  thou  love  them,  Evgeny?  " 

"Yes,  Arkady!" 

"They  love  thee  so!" 

BazarofF  said  nothing  for  a  while.—"  Dost 
thou  know  what  I  am  thinking  about?  " — he  said 
at  last,  throwing  his  hands  behind  his  head. 

"No.    What  is  it?" 

"  I  am  thinking:  my  parents  have  a  jolly  good 
time  in  the  world !  My  father,  at  the  age  of  sixty, 
fusses  about,  talks  about  '  palliative '  remedies, 
doctors  people,  is  generous  to  his  peasants, — in  a 
word,  he  leads  a  hfe  of  dissipation;  and  my 
mother  finds  life  pleasant  also:  her  day  is  so 
crammed  with  all  sorts  of  occupations,  with  akhs ! 
and  okhs!  that  she  has  no  time  to  bethink  herself; 
while  I " 

"While  thou?" 

"  While  I  think:  here  I  lie  now  under  a  hay- 
stack ....  the  space  I  occupy  is  small,  so  tiny 
in  comparison  with  the  surrounding  expanse, 
where  I  am  not,  and  where  no  one  cares  about  me ; 
and  the  portion  of  time  which  I  shall  manage  to 
live  through  is  so  insignificant,  in  comparison  with 

218 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

eternity,  where  I  have  not  been  and  shall  not  be. 
.  .  .  But  in  this  atom,  this  mathematical  point, 
the  blood  is  circulating,  the  brain  is  working,  it 
wants  something  also.  .  .  .  What  a  monstrosity ! 
What  nonsense! " 

*'  Permit  me  to  remark  that  what  thou  art  say- 
ing is  applicable  to  all  men  in  general.  ..." 

"  Thou  art  right,"— chimed  in  Bazaroif.— 
"  What  I  wanted  to  say  is  that  they,  that  is,  my 
parents,  are  occupied,  and  do  not  bother  about 
their  own  insignificance ;  it  does  not  stink  in  their 
nostrils  .  .  .  while  I  .  .  ,  feel  simply  bored  and 
wrathful." 

"  Wrathful?    Why  wrathful?  " 

"Why?  What  dost  thou  mean  by  'why'? 
Can  it  be  that  thou  hast  forgotten? " 

"  I  remember  everything,  but  nevertheless  I  do 
not  acknowledge  that  thou  hast  a  right  to  be 
angry.    Thou  art  unhappy,  I  admit,  but  .  .  .  ." 

"  Eh !  I  perceive  that  thou,  Arkady  Nikolae- 
vitch,  understandest  love  like  all  the  most  modern 
young  men:  cheep,  cheep,  cheep,  chicken,  but  just 
as  soon  as  the  chicken  begins  to  approach,  make 
off  as  fast  as  you  can!— I  am  not  Hke  that.  But 
enough  on  that  score.  It  is  shameful  to  talk  about 
what  cannot  be  helped."  He  turned  over  on  his 
side. — "Aha!  yonder  is  a  bold  ant  dragging  a 
half -dead  fly.  Drag  it  along,  brother,  drag  it 
along !  Don't  mind  its  resistance,  take  advantage 
of  the  fact  that  thou,  in  thy  quality  of  an  animal, 

219 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

hast  a  right  not  to  recognise  the  feeling  of  suffer- 
ing, which  is  quite  the  reverse  of  the  case  with  one 
of  us,  who  is  '  self -broken  '  !  " 

"  That  is  not  the  thing  for  thee  to  say,  Evgeny ! 
— When  hast  thou  broken  thyself?  " 

Bazaroff  raised  his  head. — "  That 's  the  only 
thing  I  am  proud  of.  I  have  not  broken  myself, 
and  a  woman  shall  not  break  me.  Amen !  Done 
with!  Thou  wilt  never  hear  another  word  about 
it  from  me.*' 

The  two  friends  lay  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"  Yes," — began  Bazaroff, — "  man  is  a  strange 
being.  When  one  gazes  thus  from  one  side,  and 
from  a  distance,  at  life  in  the  wilds,  such  as  our 
'  fathers  *  lead,  it  seems  to  him :  What  could  be 
better?  Eat,  drink,  and  know  that  thou  art  act- 
ing in  the  most  regular,  most  sensible  manner. 
But  no;  melancholy  seizes  hold  upon  one.  One 
wants  to  consort  with  people,  even  if  it  be  to  re- 
vile them,  but  to  consort  with  them." 

"  One  must  arrange  life  in  such  a  way  that 
every  moment  in  it  will  be  significant," — said  Ar- 
kady thoughtfully. 

"  Who  says  so !  The  significant,  although  it  is 
sometimes  false,  is  sweet,  but  it  is  also  possible  to 
reconcile  one's  self  to  the  insignificant  ....  but 
there  's  the  empty  tittle-tattle,  the  empty  tittle- 
tattle — ^that  's  the  trouble." 

"  Tittle-tattle  does  not  exist  for  a  man,  if  only 
he  refuse  to  recognise  it." 

220 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

"  H'm  ...  thou  hast  uttered  the  opposite  com' 
monplace/* 

"  What?— What  dost  thou  call  by  that  name?  " 

"  Why,  this :  to  say,  for  example,  that  civilisa- 
tion is  useful,— that  is  a  commonplace;  but  to  say 
that  civilisation  is  harmful  is  the  opposite  com- 
monplace. It  appears  to  be  more  elegant,  but,  in 
reaHty,  it  is  identical." 

"  But  where  is  the  truth,  on  which  side?  " 

"Where?  I  will  answer  thee  like  Echo: 
*  Where? ' " 

"  Thou  art  in  a  melancholy  mood  to-day, 
Evgeny." 

"  Really?  The  sun  must  have  stewed  me,  and 
one  should  not  eat  so  many  raspberries." 

"  In  that  case,  it  would  not  be  a  bad  idea  to  have 
a  nap,"— remarked  Arkady. 

"  All  right ;  only  don't  look  at  me :  every  man 
has  a  stupid  face  when  he  is  asleep." 

"  But  is  n't  it  a  matter  of  indifference  to  thee 
what  people  think  of  thee?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  thee.  A  genuine 
man  ought  not  to  worry  about  that;  a  gen- 
uine man  is  the  one  for  whom  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  think,  but  whom  one  must  obey  or 
hate." 

"  It  is  strange!  I  do  not  hate  any  one," — said 
Arkady,  after  reflection. 

"  And  I  hate  so  many.  Thou  art  a  tender  soul, 
a  sluggish  man,  why  shouldst  thou  hate  I— Thou 

221 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

art  timid,  thou  hast  little  confidence  in  thy« 
self.  .  .  ." 

"And  thou,"— interrupted  Arkady,— "  hast 
thou  confidence  in  thyself?  Hast  thou  a  lofty 
opinion  of  thyself?  " 

BazarofF  remained  silent  for  a  while. — "  When 
I  meet  a  man  who  will  not  sing  small  before  me," 
— he  said  with  breaks  and  pauses, — "  then  I  will 
alter  my  opinion  of  myself.— Hate!  Why,  here, 
for  example,  thou  didst  say  to-day,  as  we  passed 
the  cottage  of  our  overseer,  Philip, — it  is  so  fine 
and  white, — here  thou  didst  say, — that  Russia 
would  attain  to  perfection  when  the  last  peasant 
should  have  such  a  dwelling,  and  every  one  of  us 
ought  to  promote  it.  .  .  .  But  I  hated  that  last 
peasant,  Philip  or  Sidor,  for  whom  I  am  to  toil 
and  moil,  and  who  will  not  even  say  '  thanks  '  to 
me  ....  and  what  do  I  want  with  his  thanks, 
an5rway?  Well,  he  will  live  in  a  white  cottage, 
but  burdocks  will  be  growing  out  of  me. — Well, 
and  what  comes  next?  " 

"  Enough,  Evgeny  .  .  .  when  one  Ustens  to 
thee  to-day,  one  involuntarily  agrees  with  those 
who  accuse  us  of  a  lack  of  principles." 

"  Thou  art  talking  like  thy  uncle.  In  general, 
there  are  no  principles — hast  thou  not  discovered 
that  yet  I  but  there  are  sensations.  Everything 
depends  on  them." 

"  How  so? " 

"Why,  because. — Take  me;  for  example:    I 

222 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

hold  to  the  negative  tendency, — by  virtue  of  sen- 
sation. It  is  agreeable  to  me  to  deny  my  brain  is 
constructed  in  that  way — and  that's  enough! 
Why  do  I  Hke  chemistry?  Why  dost  thou  hke 
apples  ?— also  by  virtue  of  the  sensation.  All  that 
is  identical.  Deeper  than  that,  men  will  never 
penetrate.  Not  every  one  will  tell  thee  that,  and  I 
shall  not  tell  thee  that  again." 

"  What?  and  is  honour  also  a  sensation? " 

"  I  should  say  so!  " 

"  Evgeny!  "—began  Arkady  in  a  sad  voice. 

"Ah?  What?  Isn'tittothy  taste?"— inter- 
rupted Bazaroff.— "  No,  brother!  If  thou  hast 
made  up  thy  mind  to  mow  down  everything — lay 
thyself  by  the  heels  also !  .  .  .  .  But  we  have  phi- 
losophised enough.  *  Nature  incites  to  the  silence 
of  slumber,'  says  Pushkin." 

"  He  never  said  anything  of  the  sort," — said 
Arkady. 

"  Well,  if  he  did  n't  say  it,  he  might  and  should 
have  said  it  in  his  quahty  of  a  poet.  By  the  way, 
he  must  have  been  in  the  military  service." 

"  Pushkin  never  was  a  miHtary  man." 

"  Upon  my  word,  he  shows  it  on  every  page:— 
*  To  battle,  to  battle !  For  the  honour  of 
Russia!'" 

"  What  fables  thou  dost  invent!  Why,  that  is 
downright  calumny." 

"  Calumny?  Much  I  care  about  that!  He  has 
undertaken  to  scare  me  with  a  word!    Whatever 

223 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

calumny  you  impute  to  a  man  he  really  deserves 
something  twenty  times  worse." 

"  We  'd  better  go  to  sleep,"— said  Arkady 
with  vexation. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure," — replied  Baza- 
roff.  But  neither  of  them  got  to  sleep.  A  cer- 
tain almost  hostile  f  eeHng  had  seized  possession  of 
the  hearts  of  both  young  men.  Five  minutes  later 
they  opened  their  eyes  and  exchanged  a  glance 
in  silence. 

"  Look,'* — said  Arkady  at  last,—"  a  dry 
maple-leaf  has  broken  loose  and  falls  to  the 
ground;  its  movement  is  exactly  like  that  of  a 
butterfly.  Is  n't  it  strange  ?  The  most  melan- 
choly and  dead  resembles  the  most  merry  and 
lively." 

"Oh,  my  friend,  Arkady  Nikolaitch!  "— 
cried  BazarofF, — "  I  make  one  request  of  thee: 
don't  use  fine  language." 

"  I  talk  as  I  can.  .  .  And  this  is  despotism,  in 
short.  An  idea  has  come  into  my  head :  why  not 
utter  it?" 

"Precisely;  but  why  should  not  I  utter  my 
thought  also?  I  think  that  to  use  fine  language 
is  improper." 

"  What  is  proper  then?    To  swear?  " 

"  Eh,  eh!  But  I  perceive  that  thou  really  art 
bent  upon  following  in  the  footsteps  of  thy  uncle. 
How  that  idiot  would  rejoice  if  he  could  hear 
thee!" 

224 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  What  was  that  thou  didst  call  Pavel  Petro- 
vritch? " 

"  I  called  him  what  he  deserves — an  idiot." 

"  But  this  is  unbearable!  "  exclaimed  Arkady. 

"Aha!  the  sentiment  of  consanguinuity  has 
spoken," — remarked  Bazaroff  tranquilly. — "I 
have  noticed  that  it  stands  its  ground  very  per- 
sistently in  people.  A  man  is  ready  to  reject 
everything,  he  will  part  with  every  prejudice;  but 
to  admit  that  his  brother,  who  steals  other  people's 
handkerchiefs  is  a  thief —is  beyond  his  strength. 
Yes,  and  in  fact :  my  brother,  mine  is  not  a  genius 
...  is  that  possible?  " 

"  What  spoke  in  me  was  the  simple  sentiment 
of  justice,  and  not  that  of  consanguinuity  at  all," 
— retorted  Arkady  vehemently. — "  But  since 
thou  hast  not  that  sensation ^  thou  canst  not  judge 
of  it." 

"  In  other  words,  Arkady  KirsanofF  is  too 
lofty  for  my  comprehension ;  I  bow  my  head  and 
hold  my  tongue." 

"  Please  stop,  Evgeny ;  we  shall  end  by  quar- 
relling." 

"  Akh,  Arkady!  do  me  that  favour:  let  us  have 
a  good  quarrel  for  once — to  the  point  of  peeling 
off  our  coats  to  extermination." 

"  Well,  if  we  go  on  like  this,  probably  we  shall 
wind  up  by  .  .  .  ." 

"  By  fighting?  "  —  interpolated  Bazaroff. — 
"  What  of  that?    Here  on  the  hay,  in  such  idyllic 

225 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

surroundings,  far  from  the  world  and  the  gaze  of 
men— it  does  n't  matter.  But  thou  wilt  not  get 
the  better  of  me.  I  shall  instantly  clutch  thee  by 
the  throat " 

Bazaroif  spread  wide  his  long,  tough  fin- 
gers. .  .  Arkady  turned  over  and  made  ready,  as 
though  in  jest,  to  oflFer  resistance.  .  .  .  But  his 
friend's  face  struck  him  as  so  malevolent,  there 
seemed  to  him  to  be  something  so  far  from  a  jest 
in  the  wry  smile  on  his  lips,  in  his  blazing  eyes, — 
that  he  felt  an  involuntary  timidity.  .  .  . 

"  Ah!  so  this  is  where  you  've  got  to!  "—rang 
out  Vasily  Ivanitch's  voice  at  that  moment,  and 
the  old  regimental  staff -surgeon  stood  before  the 
young  men,  clad  in  a  home-made  Hnen  pea-jacket 
and  with  a  straw  hat,  also  of  domestic  manufac- 
ture, on  his  head.—"  I  have  been  hunting  and 
hunting  for  you.  .  .  But  you  have  chosen  a  cap- 
ital place  and  are  devoting  yourselves  to  a  very 
fine  occupation.  Lying  on  the  *  earth '  to  gaze 
at  *  heaven.'  .  .  Do  you  know,  there  is  a  certain 
special  significance  in  that!  " 

"  I  gaze  at  heaven  only  when  I  want  to  sneeze," 
—growled  Bazaroff ,  and,  turning  to  Arkady,  he 
added,  in  an  undertone :  "  It 's  a  pity  he  has  dis- 
turbed us." 

"  Come,  enough  of  that,"— whispered  Arkady, 
and  stealthily  pressed  his  friend's  hand.  But  no 
friendship  can  long  withstand  such  clashes. 

"  I  look  at  you,  my  young  companions," — 
226 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Vasily  Ivanitch  was  saying  in  the  meantime,  as 
he  shook  his  head  and  rested  his  clasped  hands  on 
an  artfully  twisted  cane  of  his  own  manufacture, 
with  the  figure  of  a  Turk  in  place  of  a  knob,— 
"  I  look  and  cannot  sufficiently  admire  you.  How 
much  strength  and  the  most  vigorous  youth,  ca- 
pacities, talents,  you  have!  'T  is  simply  .... 
Castor  and  Pollux!" 

"See  now — he  makes  pretensions  to  knowing 
mythology!  " — remarked  Bazaroff.  "  'T  is  im- 
mediately evident  that  he  was  strong  on  Latin  in 
his  day  I  I  think  I  remember  that  thou  wert  given 
the  silver  medal  for  composition— hey? " 

"  The  Dioscuri,  the  Dioscuri!  "—repeated 
Vasily  Ivanitch. 

"  Come,  father,  have  done  with  that,— don't  get 
sentimental." 

"  It  is  permissible  once  in  a  way," — stammered 
the  old  man. — "  But  I  have  not  hunted  you  up, 
gentlemen,  for  the  purpose  of  paying  you  com- 
pliments, but  with  the  object,  in  the  first  place, 
of  informing  you  that  we  are  to  dine  soon;  and, 
in  the  second  place, — I  wanted  to  warn  thee, 
Evgeny.  .  .  .  Thou  art  a  sensible  man,  thou 
knowest  men  and  thou  knowest  women,  and,  con- 
sequently, thou  wilt  pardon  me.  .  .  .  Thy  mother 
wished  to  have  a  prayer-service  celebrated  in  hon- 
our of  thy  arrival.  Don't  imagine  that  I  am  sum- 
moning thee  to  be  present  at  that  prayer-service : 
it  is  already  finished ;  but  Father  Alexyei  .  .  .  ." 

227 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  The  pope?  " 

"Well,  yes,  the  priest;  he  is  going  to  dine 
with  us.  ...  I  had  not  expected  it,  and  even 
advised  against  it  .  .  .  but  somehow  it  turned  out 

that  way  ....  he  did  not  understand  me 

Moreover,  he  is  a  very  good  and  sagacious 
man." 

"  He  won't  eat  my  portion  at  dinner,  will  he?  *' 
— asked  Bazaroff. 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  laughed—"  Good  gracious, 
what  dost  thou  mean?  " 

"  I  demand  nothing  more.  I  am  ready  to  sit 
down  at  table  with  any  sort  of  man.'* 

Vasily  Ivanitch  adjusted  his  hat.—"  I  was 
convinced  in  advance," — he  said, — "  that  thou  art 
above  all  prejudices.  As  for  that,  I  am  an  old 
man:  I  have  lived  for  sixty  years,  and  I  have 
none."  (Vasfly  Ivanitch  did  not  dare  to  con- 
fess that  he  himself  had  desired  to  have  the 
prayer-service.  .  .  .  He  was  no  less  devout  than 
his  wife.)  "And  Father  Alexyei  was  very 
anxious  to  make  thy  acquaintance.  Thou  wilt 
like  him,  as  thou  wilt  see.  He  is  not  avferse  to  a 
game  of  cards  either,  and  even  .  .  .  . '  but  that  is 
between  ourselves  ...  he  smokes  a  pipe." 

"  You  don't  say  so?  After  dinner  we  '11  sit 
down  to  whist  and  I  '11  beat  him." 

"  Ha— ha— ha,  we  shall  seel  That 's  the  ques- 
tion." 

"  What 's  that?  Art  thou  going  to  recall  the 
228 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

pleasures  of  youth?  " — said  Bazaroif,  with  pecu- 
liar emphasis. 

Vasily  Ivanitch's  bronzed  cheeks  crimsoned 
with  confusion. 

"  Art  not  thou  ashamed  of  thyself,  Evgeny?— 
What 's  past  is  past.  Well,  and  I  am  ready  to 
confess  in  his  presence  that  I  had  that  passion  in 
my  youth— as  a  matter  of  fact;  and  I  have  paid 
well  for  it,  too! — But  how  hot  it  is.  Allow  me  to 
sit  down  beside  you.    I  'm  not  in  the  way,  am  I  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"— replied  Arkady. 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  dropped  down  on  the  hay  with 
a  grunt. — "  Your  present  couch,  gentlemen," — he 
began,—"  reminds  me  of  my  miUtary,  bivouac 
life,  field  hospitals,  also  somewhere  close  to  a  hay- 
stack, thank  God  for  that." — He  sighed. — "  I 
have  gone  through  a  great  deal — a  great  deal,  in 
my  time.  Now,  for  instance,  if  you  will  permit 
me,  I  will  tell  you  a  curious  episode  of  the  plague 
in  Bessarabia." 

"  For  which  you  received  the  Order  of  St. 
Vladimir?  " — interpolated  BazarofF.  "  We  know 
about  it — we  know  about  it.  .  .  .  By  the  way, 
why  dost  not  thou  wear  it?  " 

"  Why,  I  have  told  thee  that  I  have  no  preju- 
dices,"—stammered  Vasily  Ivanitch  (only  the 
day  before  he  had  commanded  that  the  red  rib- 
bon should  be  ripped  off  his  coat),  and  he  be- 
gan to  narrate  the  episode  of  the  plague. — 
"  Why,    he    has    fallen    asleep,"— he    suddenly 

229 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

whispered  to  Arkady,  pointing  at  Bazaroff,  and 
he  winked  good-humouredly. — "Evgeny!  get 
up!  " — he  added  aloud.—"  Come  to  dinner.  .  .  ." 
Father  Alexyei,  a  stout  and  stately  man,  with 
thick,  carefuUy  brushed  hair,  and  an  embroid- 
ered belt  over  his  lilac  cassock,  proved  to  be  a  very 
adroit  and  ready-witted  person.  He  hastened  to 
shake  hands  with  Arkady  and  BazarofF,  as 
though  he  understood  beforehand  that  they  did 
not  need  his  blessing,^  and  altogether  he  bore  him- 
self without  constraint.  He  neither  lowered  his 
own  dignity,  nor  gave  offence  to  others;  he 
laughed  opportunely  at  seminary  Latin  and  stood 
up  for  his  Bishop ;  he  drank  two  glasses  of  wine, 
but  refused  a  third;  he  accepted  a  cigar  from  Ar- 
kady, but  did  not  smoke  it,  saying  that  he  would 
carry  it  home.  The  only  thing  about  him  that 
was  not  thoroughly  agreeable  was  that  he  kept 
slowly  and  cautiously  Hf  ting  his  hand  to  catch  flies 
on  his  face,  and  in  so  doing  he  sometimes  crushed 
them.  He  seated  himself  at  the  card-table  with 
a  moderate  show  of  satisfaction,  and  ended  by 
winning  two  rubles  and  a  half  from  BazarofF  in 
bills;  in  Arina  Vlasievna's  house  no  one  had  the 
least  conception  of  reckoning  in  silver  money.  .  .^ 
As  before,  she  sat  beside  her  son  (she  did  not  play 

^  It  is  customary  for  priests  and  the  higher  ecclesiastics  to  bestow 
their  blessing  upon  laymen,  and  have  their  hand  kissed  in  return, 
instead  of  shaking  hands. — Translator. 

^  At  the  epoch  referred  to,  silver  was  considerably  more  valuable 
than  bills.— Traksultok- 

280 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

cards),  as  before  she  propped  her  cheek  on  her 
fist,  and  only  rose  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
orders  to  serve  some  fresh  viand.  She  was  afraid 
to  caress  BazaroiF,  and  he  did  not  encourage  her, 
did  not  challenge  her  to  caresses,  and,  in  addition, 
Vasily  Ivanitch  had  advised  her  not  to  "  bother  " 
him  too  much.—"  Young  men  don't  like  it,"— 
he  had  inculcated  upon  her;  (it  is  unnecessary  to 
say  what  the  dinner  was  like  that  day:  Timofeitch 
had  galloped  off  in  person  at  early  dawn  for  some 
special  Tcherkessian  beef ;  the  overseer  had  gone 
in  another  direction  for  burbot,  perch  and  craw- 
fish ;  for  mushrooms  alone  the  peasant  women  had 
been  paid  forty-two  kopeks  in  copper  money) ; 
but  Arina  Vlasievna's  eyes,  immovably  fastened 
upon  Bazaroff,  expressed  not  alone  devotion  and 
tenderness :  in  them  there  was  visible  also  sadness 
mingled  with  curiosity  and  terror :  there  was  vis- 
ible a  sort  of  submissive  reproach. 

But  Bazaroff  was  in  no  mood  to  decipher  pre- 
cisely what  his  mother's  eyes  expressed ;  he  rarely 
addressed  her,  and  then  only  with  a  curt  question. 
Once  he  asked  her  for  her  hand  "  for  luck" ;  she 
gently  laid  her  soft  little  hand  on  his  hard,  broad 
palm. 

"  Well,"— she  inquired,  after  waiting  a  while, 
-"did n't  it  help?" 

"  Things  went  still  worse,"— he  rephed  with  a 
careless  smile. 

"  They  are  taking  great  risks,"— articulated 
231 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Father  Alexyei,  as  though  with  compassion,  and 
stroked  his  handsome  beard. 

"  Napoleon's  rule,  my  good  father.  Napoleon's 
rule,"— interpolated  Vasily  Ivanitch,— and  led  an 
ace. 

"  And  it  led  him  to  the  island  of  St.  Helena," 
—remarked  Father  Alexyei,  and  trumped  with 
the  ace. 

"  Wouldst  not  thou  hke  some  raspberry  water, 
Eniiishenka?  " — asked  Arina  Vlasievna. 

Bazaroff  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  No!  "—he  said  to  Arkady  on  the  following 
day, — "  I  'm  going  away  to-morrow.  It 's  tire- 
some; I  want  to  work  and  it 's  impossible  here. 
I  '11  go  back  to  the  country  with  thee ;  I  have  left 
all  my  preparations  there.  In  thy  house  at  least 
one  can  lock  himself  up.  But  here  my  father 
keeps  repeating  to  me :  '  my  study  is  at  thy  ser- 
vice— no  one  will  disturb  thee,'— and  he  himself 
never  goes  a  step  from  me.  And  somehow,  too, 
I  'm  ashamed  to  lock  him  out.  And  it 's  the  same 
with  my  mother.  I  hear  her  sighing  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall,  but  if  I  go  to  her  I  have  noth- 
ing to  say." 

"  She  is  greatly  afflicted,"— said  Arkady,— 
'*  and  so  is  he." 

"  I  '11  return  to  them." 

"  When? " 

"  Why,  on  my  way  to  Petersburg." 

"  I  am  particularly  sorry  for  thy  mother." 
282 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Why  so?  Has  she  been  treating  thee  to 
berries? " 

Arkady  dropped  his  eyes. — "  Thou  dost  not 
know  thy  mother,  Evgeny.  She  is  not  only  an 
excellent  woman,  she  is  very  clever,  really.  This 
morning  she  talked  to  me  for  half  an  hour — so 
practically,  so  interesting." 

"  She  probably  dilated  upon  me  the  whole 
time?" 

"  The  conversation  was  not  about  thee  alone." 

"  Possibly ;  things  are  more  visible  to  thee  as  an 
outsider.  If  a  woman  can  maintain  a  half -hour's 
conversation,  that  is  a  good  sign.  But  I  'm  going 
away,  nevertheless." 

"  Thou  wilt  not  find  it  easy  to  impart  that  in- 
formation to  them.  They  are  both  discussing 
what  we  are  to  do  a  fortnight  hence." 

"It  is  not  easy.  The  devil  prompted  me  to- 
day to  annoy  my  father:  the  other  day  he  gave 
orders  that  one  of  his  serfs  who  pays  him  quit- 
rent  should  be  flogged — and  he  did  quite  right; 
yes,  yes,  don't  stare  at  me  in  such  horror, — he  did 
quite  right,  because  the  man  is  the  most  frightful 
thief  and  drunkard ;  only  my  father  did  not  in  the 
least  expect  that  I  should  get  wind  of  the  affair, 
as  the  expression  is.  He  was  very  much  discon- 
certed, and  now  I  must  grieve  him  to  boot.  .  . 
Never  mind!  It  won't  kill  him!  " 

Bazaroff  said,  "  Never  mind !  "  but  a  whole  day 
elapsed  before  he  could  bring  himself  to  inform 

233 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Vasily  Ivanitch  of  his  intention.  At  last,  as  he 
was  bidding  him  good-night  in  the  study,  he  said, 
with  a  forced  yawn : 

"  Yes.  .  .  I  came  near  forgetting  to  tell  thee. 
.  .  Please  order  our  horses  to  be  sent  on  to  Feodot 
to-morrow  for  the  relay." 

Vasily  Ivanitch  was  astounded. — "  Is  Mr.  Kir- 
sanoif  going  away  from  us?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  am  going  with  him." 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  whirled  round  where  he  stood. 
— "Thou  art  going  away?  " 

"  Yes  ...  I  must.  Please  make  arrangements 
about  the  horses." 

"  Very  well  ..."  stammered  the  old  man:— 
"  for  the  relay  .  .  very  good  ....  only  ....  only 
....  What  does  it  mean?  " 

"  I  must  go  to  his  house  for  a  short  time.  Then 
I  will  come  back  here." 

"Yes I  For  a  short  time.  .  .  Very  good." — 
Vasily  Ivanitch  pulled  out  his  handkerchief,  and 
as  he  blew  his  nose  he  bent  over  almost  to  the 
floor.  .  "Very  well  .  .  .  all  shall  be  done.  I  was 
thinking  that  thou  wouldst  stay  with  us  ...  . 
longer.  Three  days.  .  .  .  That  .  .  that  .  .  is 
very  httle,  after  three  years;  it  is  very  httle, 
Evgeny!" 

"  But  I  tell  thee  I  am  coming  back  soon. 
It  is  indispensable  that  I  should  go." 

"  Indispensable.  .  .  .  What  then?  One  must 
do  one's  duty  first  of  all.  ...  So  I  am  to  des- 

234 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

patch  the  horses?  Very  good.  Of  course  Arina 
and  I  did  not  expect  this.  She  has  begged  some 
flowers  from  a  neighbour ;  she  meant  to  embelhsh 
thy  room."  (Vasfly  Ivanitch  made  no  mention 
of  the  fact  that  very  morning,  as  soon  as  it 
was  light,  standing  barefooted  in  his  slippers, 
he  had  taken  counsel  with  Timofeitch,  and 
drawing  forth,  with  trembling  fingers,  one  bank- 
note after  another,  had  commissioned  him  to 
make  divers  purchases,  having  special  reference 
to  victuals  and  to  claret,  which,  so  far  as  he  had 
been  able  to  observe,  the  young  men  greatly 
liked.)  "  The  main  thing  is  freedom;— that  is 
my  rule  .  .  .  one  must  not  impede  .  .  . 
not  .  .  ." 

He  suddenly  relapsed  into  silence  and  went  to- 
ward the  door. 

"  We  shall  see  each  other  again  soon,  father, 
really." 

But  Vasfly  Ivanitch,  without  turning  round, 
merely  waved  his  hand  and  left  the  room.  On 
reaching  his  bedroom  he  found  his  wife  in  bed, 
and  began  to  pray  in  a  whisper,  in  order  not  to 
waken  her.  But  she  awoke,  nevertheless. — "  Is  it 
thou,  Vasfly  Ivanitch?  " — she  asked. 

"  Yes,  dear  little  mother." 

"  Comest  thou  from  Eniiisha?  Dost  thou  know 
I  am  afraid :  he  does  not  sleep  comfortably  on  the 
couch.  I  ordered  Anfisushka  to  give  him  thy 
camp  mattress  and  new  pillows;  I  would  have 

235 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

given  him  our  feather-bed,  but  I  remember  that 
he  does  not  like  a  soft  bed." 

"  Never  mind,  dear  little  mother,  don't  worry. 
He  's  all  right.  O  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us 
sinners," — he  continued  his  prayer  in  a  low  voice. 
Vasily  Ivanitch  was  sorry  for  his  old  woman;  he 
did  not  like  to  tell  her  overnight  what  a  sorrow 
was  in  store  for  her. 

Bazaroff  and  Arkady  went  away  on  the  fol- 
lowing day.  From  early  morning  everything  in 
the  house  grew  melancholy;  the  dishes  tumbled 
out  of  Anf  isushka's  hands ;  even  Fedka  was  sur- 
prised, and  ended  by  pulling  off  his  boots.  Vasily 
Ivanitch  bustled  about  more  than  ever:  he  was 
evidently  keeping  up  his  courage;  he  talked  in  a 
loud  voice  and  clumped  with  his  feet,  but  his  face 
was  haggard  and  his  glances  constantly  sHpped 
past  his  son.  Arina  Vlasievna  wept  quietly;  she 
was  thoroughly  distraught,  and  would  not  have 
been  able  to  control  herself  if  her  husband  had  not 
argued  with  her  for  two  whole  hours  early  in  the 
morning.  But  when  Bazaroff,  after  repeated 
promises  to  return  not  later  than  a  month  hence, 
tore  himself  at  last  from  the  restraining  embraces, 
and  took  his  seat  in  the  tarantas ;  when  the  horses 
started  and  the  bell  began  to  jingle  and  the  wheels 
began  to  revolve,— and  there  was  no  longer  any 
use  in  staring  after  him,  and  the  dust  had  sub- 
sided, and  Timofeitch,  all  bowed  and  reeling  as 
he  walked,  dragged  himself  back  to  his  kennel; 

236 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

when  the  old  folks  were  left  alone  in  their  house, 
which  also  seemed  suddenly  to  have  shrunk  to- 
gether and  grown  decrepit :  Vasily  Ivanitch,  who 
only  a  few  moments  before  had  been  bravely  wav- 
ing his  handkerchief  from  the  porch,  dropped  into 
a  chair  and  drooped  his  head  upon  his  breast. 
"  He  has  abandoned,  abandoned  us,"— he  stam- 
mered,—"  abandoned  us;  he  found  it  tiresome 
with  us.  Alone,  solitary  as  a  finger  now,  alone!  " 
he  repeated  several  times,  and  every  time  he  thrust 
out  his  hand  in  front  of  him  with  the  forefinger 
standing  apart.  Then  Arina  Vlasievna  went  up 
to  him,  and  leaning  her  grey  head  against  his  grey 
head,  she  said:  "  What  is  to  be  done,  Vasya?  A 
son  is  a  slice  cut  oif .  He  is  hke  the  falcon :  when 
he  would  he  flew  hither,  when  he  would  he  flew 
away;  thou  and  I  are  like  mushrooms  on  a  hol- 
low tree :  we  sit  in  a  row  and  never  stir  from  our 
places.  Only  I  shall  remain  forever  inalterable 
to  thee,  as  thou  wilt  to  me." 

Vasfly  Ivanitch  removed  his  hands  from  his 
face  and  embraced  his  wife,  his  friend,  as  closely 
as  he  had  embraced  her  in  their  youth:  she  had 
comforted  him  in  his  grief. 


237 


XXII 

In  silence,  only  now  and  then  exchanging  insig- 
nificant words,  our  friends  arrived  at  Feodot's. 
Bazaroif  was  not  wholly  satisfied  with  himself. 
Arkady  was  displeased  with  him.  Moreover,  he 
felt  in  his  heart  that  causeless  melancholy  which  is 
known  to  very  young  people  alone.  The  coach- 
man transferred  the  harness  to  the  fresh  horses, 
and  clambering  to  the  box,  inquired:  "  To  the 
right,  or  to  the  left?  " 

Arkady  shivered.  The  road  to  the  right  led  to 
the  town  and  thence  home ;  the  road  to  the  left  led 
to  Madame  Odmtzoff's. 

He  glanced  at  Bazaroff*. 

"  Evgeny,"— he  asked,—"  to  the  left?  " 

Bazaroff  turned  away. — "  What  folly  is  this?  " 
—he  muttered. 

"  I  know  that  it  is  folly," — replied  Arkady. . . . 
*'  But  where  's  the  harm  in  that?  Would  it  be  the 
first  time  we  have  perpetrated  it?  " 

Bazaroif  pulled  his  cap  down  on  his  brow. — 
"  As  thou  wilt,"— he  said  at  last. 

"  Turn  to  the  left,"— shouted  Arkady. 

The  tarantas  rolled  on  in  the  direction  of 
Nikolskoe.     But   once   having   decided   on  the 

238 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

folly,  the  friends  maintained  a  more  obsti- 
nate silence  than  ever,  and  even  appeared  to  be 
angry. 

From  the  very  way  in  which  the  butler  received 
them  on  the  porch  of  Madame  Odintzoff 's  house 
the  friends  were  enabled  to  divine  that  they  had 
not  acted  wisely  in  yielding  to  the  whim  which  had 
suddenly  seized  them.  Evidently  they  were  not 
expected.  They  sat  waiting  for  a  fairly  long  time, 
and  with  decidedly  foolish  faces,  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Madame  Odintzoff  came  at  last.  She 
greeted  them  with  the  graciousness  which  was  pe- 
cuHar  to  her,  but  was  surprised  at  their  speedy  re- 
turn, and,  so  far  as  could  be  judged  from  the  de- 
Hberation  of  her  movements  and  her  speech,  she 
was  not  over  dehghted  by  it.  They  hastened  to  ex- 
plain that  they  had  only  dropped  in  on  their  way, 
and  four  hours  later  they  went  on  to  the  town.  She 
confined  herself  to  a  sHght  exclamation,  requested 
Arkady  to  present  her  compHments  to  his  father, 
and  sent  for  her  aunt.  The  Princess  made  her 
appearance  in  a  very  sleepy  state,  which  imparted 
still  greater  maUce  to  the  expression  of  her  wrin- 
kled old  face.  Katya  was  indisposed ;  she  did  not 
leave  her  room.  Arkady  suddenly  became  con- 
scious of  the  fact  that  he  was,  at  least,  as  desirous 
of  seeing  Katya  as  Anna  Sergyeevna  herself. 
The  four  hours  passed  in  insignificant  chat  about 
this  and  that;  Anna  Sergyeevna  both  listened  and 
talked  without  a  smile.    Only  just  as  they  were 

239 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

taking  leave  did  her  former  friendliness  seem  to 
stir  in  her  soul. 

"  I  have  a  fit  of  spleen  just  at  present," — 
she  said, — "  but  you  must  pay  no  heed  to  that, 
and  come  again — I  am  saying  this  to  both  of  you, 
— after  a  while." 

Both  Bazaroif  and  Arkady  answered  her  by  a 
silent  bow,  seated  themselves  in  their  carriage,  and 
without  halting  again  anywhere,  drove  oif  home 
to  Marino,  where  they  arrived  in  safety  on  the 
following  day  at  evening.  During  the  whole 
course  of  the  journey  neither  of  them  so  much  as 
mentioned  Madame  Odintzoif' s  name;  Bazaroff, 
in  particular,  hardly  opened  his  mouth,  and  kept 
staring  to  one  side  away  from  the  road  with  a  cer- 
tain obdurate  intensity. 

Every  one  at  Marino  was  extremely  glad  to  see 
them.  The  prolonged  absence  of  his  son  had  be- 
gun to  trouble  Nikolai  Petrovitch.  He  cried  out, 
flung  his  legs  about  and  bounced  about  on  the 
divan  when  Fenitchka  ran  into  his  room  with 
beaming  eyes  and  announced  the  arrival  of  *'  the 
young  gentlemen";  even  Pavel  Petrovitch  felt  a 
certain  agreeable  agitation,  and  smiled  conde- 
scendingly as  he  shook  hands  with  the  returned 
wanderers.  They  began  to  talk  and  ask  ques- 
tions ;  Arkady  did  most  of  the  talking,  especially 
at  supper,  which  lasted  until  long  after  midnight. 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  ordered  several  bottles  of  por- 
ter to  be  served,  which  had  just  been  brought  from 

240 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Moscow,  and  he  himself  indulged  in  dissipation 
to  such  an  extent  that  his  cheeks  became  deep 
crimson,  and  he  laughed  incessantly  in  a  way 
which  was  not  precisely  childish  nor  yet  precisely 
nervous.  The  general  exhilaration  extended  to 
the  servants  also.  Dunyasha  ran  back  and  forth 
like  one  possessed,  and  kept  slamming  the  doors, 
and  Piotr,  even  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
was  still  trying  to  play  a  kazak  waltz  on  the 
guitar.  The  strings  resounded  wailingly  and 
pleasingly  in  the  motionless  air ;  but,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  little  preliminary  fioritura,  the  edu- 
cated valet  could  get  nothing  out  of  his  instru- 
ment: nature  had  denied  him  musical  talent,  as 
well  as  all  other  faculties. 

Meanwhile,  life  did  not  arrange  itself  very  com- 
fortably at  Marino,  and  poor  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
fared  badly.  His  anxieties  about  the  farm  aug- 
mented with  every  passing  day — cheerless,  inex- 
orable anxieties.  His  difficulties  with  his  hired 
labourers  became  unendurable.  Some  demanded 
their  pay  or  an  increase,  others  went  away  after 
they  had  received  their  earnest-money ;  the  horses 
fell  ill;  the  harness  wore  out  as  though  burned 
with  fire;  the  work  was  heedlessly  done;  the 
threshing  machine  which  had  been  ordered  from 
Moscow  turned  out  to  be  unsuitable,  owing  to  its 
weight;  another  was  ruined  the  first  time  it  was 
used;  half  of  the  cattle-sheds  burned  down  be- 
cause a  blind  old  woman,  one  of  the  house-serfs, 

241 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

went  in  windy  weather  to  fumigate  her  cow  with 
a  firebrand.  .  .  .  The  catastrophe  occurred,  it  is 
true,  according  to  the  assertion  of  that  same  old 
woman,  because  the  master  had  taken  it  into  his 
head  to  set  up  some  unheard-of  cheeses  and  dairy- 
products.  The  overseer  suddenly  grew  lazy,  and 
even  began  to  grow  fat,  as  every  Russian  man 
does  grow  fat  when  "  free  bread  "  falls  to  his  lot. 
On  catching  sight  from  afar  of  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch,  in  order  to  display  his  zeal,  he  would  fling 
a  chip  at  a  sucking-pig  which  was  running  by,  or 
menace  a  half -nude  little  boy;  but  the  rest  of  the 
time  he  spent  chiefly  in  sleeping.  The  peasants 
who  had  been  placed  on  the  quit-rent  basis  did 
not  bring  their  money  at  the  appointed  time  and 
stole  wood  in  the  forest;  almost  every  night  the 
watchmen  found,  and  sometimes  captured  after 
a  scrimmage,  the  peasants'  horses  in  the  meadows 
of  the  "  farm."  Nikolai  Petrovitch  tried  the  plan 
of  inflicting  a  fine  in  money  for  the  damage  done 
by  this  grazing,  but  the  affair  usually  ended  by 
the  horses  being  restored  to  their  owners  after 
they  had  been  fed  at  his  expense  for  a  day  or 
two.  To  crown  all,  the  peasants  began  to 
quarrel  among  themselves;  brothers  demanded  a 
division,  their  wives  could  not  get  along  together 
in  one  house;  all  at  once  a  brawl  began  to  rage, 
and  suddenly  everything  was  in  an  uproar,  as 
though  at  the  word  of  command  every  one  was 
rushing  past  the  porch  of  the  estate-office  besieg- 

242 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

ing  the  master,  often  with  bruised  faces,  in  an  in- 
toxicated condition,  and  demanding  justice  and 
chastisement;  clamour  arose,  and  roars,  and  the 
whimpering  shrieks  of  women  mingled  with  curses 
from  the  men.  It  became  necessary  to  examine 
into  the  conflicting  claims,  to  shout  one's  self 
hoarse,  knowing  in  advance  that  it  was  impossible, 
nevertheless,  to  arrive  at  any  correct  decision. 
There  were  not  hands  enough  for  the  reaping:  a 
neighbouring  peasant-proprietor,  with  the  most 
ingratiating  countenance,  had  contracted  to  fur- 
nish reapers  at  two  rubles  a  desyatina,  and  had 
cheated  in  the  most  unconscionable  manner;  his 
peasant  women  demanded  unheard-of  prices,  and, 
in  the  meantime,  the  grain  was  falling  from  the 
ear  upon  the  ground,  and  while  on  the  one  hand 
the  reaping  could  not  be  managed,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  Council  of  Guardians  was  menacing 
and  demanding  immediate  and  full  payment  of 
interest  on  its  loan 

"  It  is  beyond  my  strength!  " — Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch  more  than  once  exclaimed  with  despair.— 
"  It  is  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  fight  myself, 
and  my  principles  do  not  permit  me  to  send  for 
the  chief  of  the  rural  police,  and  yet,  without  the 
fear  of  punishment,  nothing  can  be  accom- 
plished!" 

"  Du  calme,  du  calme/'— 'Pavel  Petrovitch  re- 
plied to  this,  but  he  himself  purred  and  frowned 
and  tugged  at  his  moustache. 

243 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Bazaroff  held  himself  aloof  from  all  these 
"  squabbles,"  and,  moreover,  as  a  guest  it  was  not 
his  place  to  meddle  with  other  people's  affairs. 
On  the  day  after  his  arrival  at  Marino,  he  be- 
took himself  to  his  frogs,  his  infusorise,  his  chem- 
ical compounds,  and  busied  himself  exclusively 
with  them.  Arkady,  on  the  contrary,  regarded  it 
as  his  duty,  if  not  to  aid  his  father,  at  least  to 
display  a  mien  of  being  ready  to  aid  him.  He 
hstened  patiently  to  him,  and  one  day  he  offered 
some  piece  of  advice,  not  with  the  object  of  hav- 
ing it  followed,  but  for  the  sake  of  showing  his 
sympathy.  Farming  matters  did  not  arouse  re- 
pugnance in  him:  he  had  even  meditated  with 
pleasure  on  agricultural  activity;  but  at  that 
period  other  thoughts  were  swarming  in  his  brain. 
Arkady,  to  his  own  amazement,  thought  inces- 
santly of  Nikolskoe ;  formerly  he  would  only  have 
shrugged  his  shoulders  if  any  one  had  told  him 
that  he  could  feel  bored  under  the  same  roof  with 
Bazaroff,  and  under  what  roof  to  boot  I— 
that  of  his  father;  but  he  really  was  bored  and 
longed  to  get  away.  He  took  it  into  his  head  to 
walk  until  he  was  tired  out,  but  this  was  of  no 
avail.  While  chatting  one  day  with  his  father  he 
learned  that  Nikolai  Petrovitch  had  several  de- 
cidedly interesting  letters  written  in  former  days 
by  Madame  Odintzoff's  mother  to  his  dead  wife, 
and  he  did  not  leave  him  in  peace  until  he  had  got 
possession  of  these  letters,  in  search  of  which 

2U 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  was  obliged  to  rummage  in  a 
score  of  different  drawers  and  chests.  On  enter- 
ing into  possession  of  these  half -decayed  papers, 
Arkady  seemed  to  calm  down,  just  as  though  he 
perceived  ahead  of  him  the  goal  toward  which  it 
behooved  him  to  advance.  "  I  will  tell  you  both 
about  it,"  he  kept  constantly  whispering, — add- 
ing to  himself:  "  I  will  go,  I  will  go,  devil 
take  it! "  But  he  recalled  his  last  visit,  the  cool 
reception  and  the  former  awkwardness,  and  was 
overcome  with  timidity.  The  "  Perchance  "  of 
youth,  a  secret  desire  to  taste  his  happiness,  to  test 
his  powers  all  by  himself,  without  the  protection 
of  any  one  whomsoever — finally  won  the  victory. 
Ten  days  had  not  elapsed  after  his  return  to 
Marino  before  he  again  galloped  off  to  the  town, 
under  the  pretext  of  studying  the  mechanism  of 
the  Sunday-schools,^  and  thence  to  Nikolskoe. 
Incessantly  urging  the  postilion  to  greater  speed, 
he  dashed  thither  like  a  young  ofiicer  to  a  battle: 
he  felt  afraid  and  gay  and  suffocating  with  im- 
patience. "  The  chief  thing  is  not  to  think,"  he 
kept  repeating  to  himself.  He  had  chanced  upon 
a  wild  postiHon;  the  man  drew  up  in  front  of 
every  dram-shop,  saying:  "Have  a  drink?"  or 
"  Don't  we  want  a  drink?  "  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
when  once  he  had  got  his  drink  he  did  not  spare 

1  For  the  instruction  in  reading,  writing,  and  the  common  branches, 
of  those  engaged  in  labor  during  the  week :  not  schools  for  teaching 
religion  exclusively,  as  that  subject  occupies  a  prominent  place  in  aU 
schools  in  Russia.— Teansi^\tor. 

245 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDRElSr 

the  horses.  ..."  What  am  I  doing?  "—sud- 
denly flashed  through  Arkady's  head.  "  Well,  I 
can't  turn  back,  anyway!"  The  troika  rolled 
briskly  on;  the  postilion  shouted  and  whistled. 
And  now  the  little  bridge  rumbled  under  the  hoofs 
and  wheels— now  the  avenue  of  chpped  firs  made 
its  appearance. ...  A  woman's  pink  gown  flashed 
amid  the  dark  verdure,  a  young  face  peeped  out 

from  beneath  the  light  fringe  of  a  parasol 

He  recognised  Katya  and  she  recognised  him. 
Arkady  ordered  the  postilion  to  stop  the  gallop- 
ing horses,  sprang  out  of  the  equipage,  and  went 
up  to  her.  "  So  it  is  you!  "—she  said,  and  a  rosy 
flush  gradually  overspread  all  her  face:—"  Let  us 
go  to  my  sister;  she  is  yonder  in  the  garden;  she 
will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

Katya  led  Arkady  to  the  garden.  His  meet- 
ing with  her  seemed  to  him  a  pecuHarly  happy 
omen;  she  had  been  as  delighted  to  see  him  as 
though  he  were  a  member  of  the  family.  Every- 
thing had  turned  out  so  capitally:  neither  butler 
nor  announcement.  At  the  turn  of  the  path  he 
caught  sight  of  Anna  Sergyeevna.  She  was 
standing  with  her  back  to  him.  On  hearing  foot- 
steps she  gently  turned  round. 

Arkady  was  on  the  point  of  feeling  discon- 
certed, but  the  first  words  she  uttered  immedi- 
ately restored  his  composure.  "  Good-morning, 
fugitive !  "  she  said  in  her  even,  gracious  voice, 
and  advanced  to  meet  him,  smiHng  and  blinking 

246 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

with  the  sun  and  the  wmd:  "Where  didst  thou 
find  him,  Katya? " 

"  I  have  brought  you  something," — he  began, 
— "  Anna  Sergyeevna,  which  you  were  not  in  the 
least  expecting.  ....    .    " 

"  You  have  brought  yourself;  that  is  the  best 
of  aU." 


247 


XXIII 

After  seeing  Arkady  off  with  mocking  sym- 
pathy, and  giving  him  to  understand  that  he  was 
not  in  the  sHghtest  degree  deceived  as  to  the  real 
object  of  his  journey,  BazaroiF  definitively  iso- 
lated himself:  the  fever  of  work  had  descended 
upon  him.  He  no  longer  argued  with  Pavel  Pet- 
rovitch,  the  more  so,  as  the  latter  in  his  presence 
assumed  an  extremely  aristocratic  mien  and  ex- 
pressed his  opinions  more  by  sounds  than  by 
words.  Only  once  did  Pavel  Petrovitch  enter  into 
a  controversy  with  the  nihilist  on  the  question 
which  was  then  in  fashion  as  to  the  rights  of  the 
nobility  of  the  Baltic  Provinces,  but  he  suddenly 
checked  himself,  saying  with  cold  courtesy: 
"  However,  we  cannot  understand  each  other;  I, 
at  least,  have  not  the  honour  to  understand  you." 

*' I  should  think  not!" — exclaimed  BazarofF. 
— "A  man  is  capable  of  understanding  every- 
thing—the pulsation  of  the  ether  and  what  is 
going  on  in  the  sun;  but  how  another  man  can 
blow  his  nose  in  any  other  way  than  he  blows  his 
own,— that  he  is  not  capable  of  understanding." 

"Is  that  witty?"— said  Pavel  Petrovitch  in- 
quiringly, and  withdrew  to  one  side.    However, 

248 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

he  sometimes  asked  permission  to  be  present  at 
BazarofF's  experiments,  and  once  even  he  put  his 
face,  perfmned  and  washed  with  an  excellent 
preparation,  down  to  the  microscope,  in  order  to 
watch  a  transparent  infusoria  swallow  a  green 
particle  and  chew  it  up  carefully  with  certain  very 
agile  little  fists  which  it  had  in  its  throat.  Nikolai 
Petrovitch  visited  BazarofF  much  more  frequently 
than  did  his  brother ;  he  would  gladly  have  come 
every  day  "  to  study,"  as  he  expressed  it,  had  not 
the  cares  of  his  estate  called  him  elsewhere.  He 
did  not  disturb  the  young  naturalist;  he  seated 
himself  somewhere  in  a  corner  and  watched  at- 
tentively, rarely  permitting  himself  a  cautious 
question.  During  dinner  and  supper  he  endeav- 
oured to  turn  the  conversation  on  physics,  geol- 
ogy or  chemistry,  as  all  other  subjects,  even  those 
connected  with  farming,  not  to  mention  those  con- 
nected with  politics,  might  lead  if  not  to  collisions, 
at  least  to  mutual  dissatisfaction.  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch divined  that  his  brother's  hatred  for  Baza- 
roff  was  not  in  the  least  diminished.  One  insig- 
nificant incident,  among  many  others,  confirmed 
him  in  his  surmise.  The  cholera  had  begun  to 
make  its  appearance  here  and  there  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  had  even  "  culled  "  a  couple  of  per- 
sons from  Marino  itself.  One  night  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch had  a  rather  severe  attack.  He  suffered 
agonies  until  morning,  but  did  not  have  recourse 
to  BazaroiF's  art — and  when  he  saw  him  on  the 

249 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

following  day,  to  his  query :  "  Why  had  not  he 
sent  for  him?  "—he  replied,  still  ghastly  pale, 
but  with  his  hair  already  well  brushed  and  face 
carefully  shaved:— "  Why,  I  beheve  you  said 
yourself  that  you  did  not  believe  in  medicine." 
Thus  the  days  passed  on;  BazarofF  toiled  stub- 
bornly and  gloomily  ...  and  meanwhile  there  was 
in  Nikolai  Petrovitch's  house  a  being  with  whom 
he  not  only  relieved  his  heart,  but  gladly  con- 
versed. .  .  That  being  was  Fenitchka. 

His  interviews  with  her  generally  took  place 
early  in  the  morning  in  the  garden  or  in  the  yard ; 
he  did  not  go  to  her  room,  and  she  never  went  but 
once  to  his  door  to  ask  him  whether  or  not  she 
ought  to  bathe  Mitya?  She  not  only  trusted  him, 
she  not  only  did  not  fear  him,  but  she  bore  herself 
in  his  presence  with  more  freedom  and  ease  than 
even  with  Nikolai  Petrovitch  himself.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  say  whence  this  arose;  perhaps  from  the 
fact  that  she  unconsciously  felt  in  Bazaroff  the 
absence  of  everything  savouring  of  the  gentry 
class,  of  all  that  loftiness  which  both  attracts  and 
intimidates.  In  her  eyes  he  was  a  capital  doctor 
and  a  simple  man.  Without  feeling  embarrassed 
by  his  presence,  she  busied  herself  with  her  baby ; 
and  one  day,  when  her  head  suddenly  began  to 
reel  and  ache,  she  accepted  a  spoonful  of  medicine 
from  his  hand.  Before  Nikolai  Petrovitch  she 
seemed  to  shun  Bazaroif :  she  did  this  not  out  of 
craft,  but  from  a  certain  sentiment  of  decorum. 

250 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Pavel  Petrovitch  she  feared  more  than  ever;  for 
some  time  past  he  had  taken  to  watching  her,  and 
was  wont  suddenly  to  make  his  appearance,  as 
though  he  had  sprung  out  of  the  earth  behind  her 
back  in  his  English  suit,  with  keen,  immovable 
face,  and  hands  in  his  pockets. — "  He  fairly  sends 
a  chill  down  your  back,"  Fenitchka  complained  to 
Dunyasha,  and  the  latter  in  reply  sighed  and 
thought  of  another  "  unfeeling  "  man.  Bazaroff, 
without  himself  suspecting  the  fact,  had  become 
the  cruel  tyrant  of  her  soul. 

Fenitchka  liked  BazarofF  and  he  also  Uked  her. 
Even  his  face  underwent  a  change  when  he  talked 
with  her:  it  assumed  a  clear,  almost  kindly  ex- 
pression, and  a  certain  playful  attentiveness  be- 
came mingled  with  its  wonted  carelessness. 
Fenitchka  grew  handsomer  with  every  passing 
day.  There  is  a  period  in  the  life  of  young  women 
when  they  suddenly  begin  to  blossom  out  and  un- 
fold like  sunmier  roses ;  this  period  had  arrived  for 
Fenitchka.  Everything  contributed  thereto,  even 
the  sultry  July  heat  which  then  prevailed.  Clad 
in  a  thin  white  gown,  she  herself  seemed  whiter 
and  lighter:  sunburn  did  not  aifect  her,  and  the 
heat,  from  which  she  could  not  guard  herself,  com- 
municated a  faint  rose  tint  to  her  cheeks  and  ears, 
and  infusing  a  gentle  lassitude  into  all  her  body, 
was  reflected  with  dreamy  languor  in  her  beau- 
tiful eyes.  She  could  hardly  work  at  all;  her 
hands  simply  fell  into  her  lap.  She  hardly  walked 

251 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

at  all  and  kept  groaning  and  complaining  with 
amusing  weakness. 

"  Thou  shouldst  bathe  more  frequently,"— 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  said  to  her.  He  had  built  a 
large  bath-house,  covered  with  canvas,  in  that  one 
of  his  ponds  which  had  not  already  quite  dried  up. 

*' Okh,  Nikolai  Petrovitch!  But  one  would 
die  before  getting  to  the  pond,  and  to  walk  back 
would  kill  one.  There  's  no  shade  in  the  garden, 
you  see." 

"  There  is  no  shade,  it  is  true,"— rephed  Nikolai 
Petrovitch,  and  mopped  his  brows. 

One  day,  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
Bazar  off,  as  he  was  returning  from  a  stroll,  found 
Fenitchka  in  the  lilac  arbour,  long  since  out  of 
bloom,  but  still  green  and  thick.  She  was  sitting 
on  the  bench  with  a  white  kerchief  thrown  over 
her  head,  according  to  her  custom ;  beside  her  lay 
a  whole  sheaf  of  red  and  white  roses,  still  wet  with 
dew.    He  bade  her  good  morning. 

"  Ah!  Evgeny  Vasilitch!  "  she  said,  and  raised 
the  edge  of  her  kerchief  a  little  to  look  at  him,  in 
which  operation  her  arm  was  bared  to  the  elbow. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  " — said  Bazaroff, 
seating  himself  by  her  side. — "  Are  you  binding 
up  a  bouquet?  " 

"  Yes ;  for  the  breakfast  table.  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch likes  it." 

"  But  it  is  still  a  long  time  to  breakfast.  What 
a  mass  of  flowers  I  " 

252 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  picked  them  now  because  it  will  get  hot, 
and  it  will  be  impossible  to  go  out.  It  is  only  at 
this  hour  that  one  can  breathe.  I  have  lost  all  my 
strength  with  this  heat.  I  'm  beginning  to  be 
afraid  that  I  am  falling  ill." 

"What  a  whimsical  idea!  Here,  let  me  feel 
your  pulse."— BazarofF  took  her  hand,  sought  the 
evenly-beating  artery,  and  did  not  even  count  its 
pulsations.—"  You  will  live  a  hundred  years,"— 
he  said  as  he  released  her  arm. 

"  Akh,  God  forbid !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Why?   Don't  you  want  to  live  a  long  time?  " 

"  Yes,  but  a  hundred  years !  Our  grandmother 
was  eighty -five  years  old— and  what  a  martyr  she 
was  I  Black,  deaf,  bent,  she  coughed  incessantly ; 
she  was  only  a  burden  to  herself.    What  a  life!  " 

"  So  it  is  better  to  be  young?  " 

"  Of  course;  why  not?  " 

"But  how  is  it  better?   Tell  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  *  how  '  ?  Here  I  am 
young  now,  I  can  do  everything,— I  go  and  come, 
and  fetch  and  carry,  and  I  am  not  obliged  to  ask 
any  one.  .  .  What  can  be  better? " 

"  Why,  it 's  all  the  same  to  me  whether  I  am 
young  or  old." 

"  What  is  it  you  say— that  it  is  all  the  same? 
What  you  say  is  impossible." 

"  Come,  judge  for  yourself,  Fedosya  Niko- 
laevna;  of  what  use  to  me  is  my  youth?    I  live 

alone,  a  poor,  wretched  fellow " 

253 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  That  always  depends  on  you." 

"  That 's  precisely  the  point,  that  it  does  not 
depend  on  me!  I  wish  somebody  would  take  pity 
on  me." 

Fenitchka  gazed  askance  at  Bazaroff,  but  said 
nothing.— "  What  book  have  you  there?"— she 
asked  after  a  pause. 

"  This?    It  is  a  learned,  wise  book." 

"And  you  are  always  studying?  Doesn't  it 
bore  you?  I  think  you  must  know  everything  by 
this  time." 

"  Evidently,  I  don't  know  everything.  Try  to 
read  a  Httle  of  this." 

"  But  I  shall  not  understand  an5i:hing.  Is  it  in 
Russian?  "—asked  Fenitchka,  grasping  the  heav- 
ily bound  book  with  both  hands.—"  How  thick 
it  is!" 

"  Yes,  it  is  in  Russian." 

"  That  makes  no  difference ;  I  shall  not  under- 
stand anything." 

"  But  I  am  not  giving  it  to  you  with  the  object 
of  having  you  understand  it.  I  want  to  watch 
you  while  you  read.  When  you  read,  the  tip  of 
your  little  nose  moves  very  prettily." 

Fenitchka,  who  was  beginning  to  decipher  in 
an  undertone  the  first  article  which  came  to  hand 
"  about  creosote,"  broke  out  laughing,  and  threw 
aside  the  book  ...  it  sHd  from  the  bench  to  the 
ground, 

254 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  am  also  fond  of  seeing  you  laugh," — said 
Bazaroff. 

"Do  stop  I" 

"  I  love  to  hear  you  talk.  It  is  like  the  babbling 
of  a  brook." 

Fenitchka  turned  away  her  head.—"  What  a 
queer  man  you  are!  " — she  said,  her  fingers  stray- 
ing among  the  flowers. — "  And  why  should  you 
care  to  Hsten  to  me  ?  You  have  had  conversation 
with  such  clever  folks." 

"  Ekh,  Fedosya  Nikolaevna!  believe  me:  all 
the  clever  ladies  in  the  world  are  not  worth  your 
elbow." 

"  Come,  now,  you  have  invented  something 
else!  "—whispered  Fenitchka,  and  folded  her 
arms. 

Bazaroff*  picked  the  book  up  from  the  ground. 
— "  This  is  a  medical  book:  why  do  you  fling  it 
awayf 

"  A  medical  book?  " — repeated  Fenitchka,  and 
turned  toward  him. — "  But  do  you  know  what? 
Ever  since  you  gave  me  those  drops — you  remem- 
ber?— Mitya  has  slept  so  well!  I  can't  think  how 
to  thank  you;  you  are  so  kind,  really." 

"  Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  one  should  pay  the 
doctor," — remarked  Bazaroff"  with  a  grin. — 
"  Doctors  are  greedy  fellows,  you  know." 

Fenitchka  raised  her  eyes  to  Bazaroff*,  and  they 
seemed  still  darker  than  usual,  owing  to  the  whit- 

255 


FATHERS  AND   CHILDREN 

ish  reflection  which  fell  upon  the  upper  part  of 
her  face.  She  did  not  know  whether  he  was  jest- 
ing or  not. 

"  If  you  like,  we  will  pay  you,  with  pleasure. . . . 
I  must  ask  Nikolai  Petrovitch.  .  ." 

"  But  do  you  think  I  want  money?  "— Bazaroff 
interrupted  her.—"  No,  I  want  no  money  from 
you." 

"  What  then?  "—said  Fenitchka. 

"  What?  "—repeated  Bazaroff.—"  Guess." 

*'  I  never  can  guess  anything!  " 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you;  I  want  ....  one  of 
these  roses." 

Again  Fenitchka  burst  out  laughing  and  even 
clasped  her  hands,  so  amusing  did  BazaroiF's  de- 
sire seem  to  her.  She  laughed,  and  at  the  same 
time  she  felt  flattered.  Bazaroff  gazed  intently 
at  her. 

"  Very  well,  very  well," — she  said  at  last,  and 
bending  toward  the  bench  she  began  to  sort  over 
the  roses.—"  Which  would  you  like— a  red  or  a 
white  one? " 

"  A  red  one,  but  not  too  large." 

She  straightened  herself  up. — "  Here,  take  it," 
— she  said,  but  immediately  drew  back  her  out- 
stretched hand,  and  biting  her  lip,  cast  a  glance 
at  the  entrance  to  the  arbour — then  began  to 
listen. 

"  What  *s  the  matter?  " — inquired  Bazaroff.— 
"Nikolai  Petrovitch?" 

266 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  No.  .  .  .  He  has  gone  to  the  fields  .  .  .  and 
I  'm  not  afraid  of  him  ....  hut  as  for  Pavel 
Petrovitch It  seemed  to  me " 

"  What? " 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  walking  there. 
No  .  .  .  there  is  no  one.  Take  it."— Fenitchka 
gave  Bazaroff  a  rose. 

"  What  makes  you  afraid  of  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch?" 

"He  always  frightens  me.  Whether  he  says 
anything  or  not,  he  looks  queer.  And  certainly 
you  don't  like  him  either.  You  remember  you 
used  to  be  forever  disputing  with  him.  I  don't 
know  what  you  were  disputing  about,  but  I  could 
see  that  you  twisted  him  about  so  and  so.  .  .  ." 

Fenitchka  demonstrated  with  her  hands  how, 
in  her  opinion,  Bazaroff  had  twisted  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch about. 

Bazaroff  smiled. — "  And  if  there  had  been  any 
danger  of  his  vanquishing  me  you  would  have 
stood  up  for  me?  " — he  inquired. 

"  How  should  I  have  stood  up  for  you?  Why, 
no  one  can  overcome  you." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  But  I  know  a  hand  which, 
if  it  wished,  could  knock  me  over  with  one  finger." 

"What  hand  is  that?" 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  know? — Smell 
and  see  how  splendid  is  the  perfume  of  the  rose 
you  have  given  me." 

Fenitchka  stretched  out  her  neck  and  put  her 

26T 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

face  close  to  the  flower.  .  .  The  kerchief  sHpped 
from  her  head  to  her  shoulders;  a  soft  mass  of 
shining  black  hair,  slightly  dishevelled,  was  re- 
vealed to  view. 

"Wait;  I  want  to  smell  it  with  you," — said 
BazarofF,  and  he  bent  over  and  kissed  her  firmly 
on  her  parted  lips. 

She  shuddered,  and  repelled  him  with  both 
hands  against  his  breast,  but  her  resistance  was 
weak,  and  he  was  able  to  repeat  and  prolong  his 
kisses. 

A  dry  cough  resounded  behind  the  lilacs. 
Fenitchka  instantly  moved  to  the  other  end  of  the 
bench.  Pavel  Petrovitch  made  his  appearance, 
made  a  slight  bow,  and  saying,  with  a  sort  of 
malicious  de j  ection — ' '  Are  you  here  ?  " — with- 
drew. 

Fenitchka  immediately  gathered  up  all  her 
roses  and  went  out  of  the  arbour.  "  Shame  on 
you,  Evgeny  Vasflievitch," — she  whispered  as  she 
went.  Unfeigned  reproach  was  audible  in  her 
whisper. 

Bazaroif  suddenly  recalled  another  scene  of  re- 
cent occurrence,  and  felt  conscience-stricken  and 
scornfully  vexed  with  himself.  But  he  immedi- 
ately shook  his  head,  ironically  congratulated  him- 
self on  his  "  formal  entrance  on  the  career  of  a 
Lovelace,"  and  went  off  to  his  chamber. 

But  Pavel  Petrovitch  quitted  the  garden,  and 
strolling  slowly,  reached  the  forest.   He  remained 

2&S 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

there  for  a  rather  long  time,  and  when  he  returned 
to  breakfast  Nikolai  Petrovitch  asked  him  with 
anxiety  whether  he  was  well— so  dark  had  his  face 
grown. 

"  As  thou  knowest,  I  sometimes  suffer  from  an 
overflow  of  bile,"  Pavel  Petrovitch  answered  him 
with  composure. 


259 


XXIV 

Two  hours  later  he  knocked  at  BazarofF's  door. 

"  I  must  make  my  excuses  for  disturbing  you 
in  your  learned  occupations,"  he  began,  as  he 
seated  himself  on  a  chair  near  the  window  and 
rested  both  hands  on  a  handsome  cane  with  an 
ivory  handle—  (he  generally  walked  without  a 
cane) ,— "  but  I  am  compelled  to  request  that  you 
wiU  bestow  upon  me  five  minutes  of  your  time— 
no  more." 

"  All  my  time  is  at  your  disposal,"— replied 
Bazaroff ,  over  whose  face  something  had  flitted 
as  soon  as  Pavel  Petrovitch  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  door. 

"  Five  minutes  wiU  suffice  for  me.  I  have  come 
to  propound  one  question  to  you." 

"  A  question?    What  is  it  about?  " 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  hear  me  out.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  your  sojourn  in  my  brother's  house,  when 
as  yet  I  had  not  denied  myself  the  pleasure  of 
conversing  with  you,  I  chanced  to  hear  you  ex- 
press your  views  on  many  subjects ;  but  so  far  as 
my  memory  serves  me,  neither  between  us  nor  in 
my  presence  did  the  conversation  turn  upon  the 
subject  of  duels  or  of  duelling  in  general.    Per- 

260 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

mit  me  to  inquire,  what  is  your  opinion  on  that 
point?" 

Bazaroif ,  who  had  risen  at  Pavel  Petrovitch's 
entrance,  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  chair 
and  folded  his  arms. 

"  This  is  my  opinion,"— said  he:—"  From  the 
theoretical  point  of  view  a  duel  is  a  piece  of  folly ; 
but  from  the  practical  point  of  view, — it  is  quite 
another  matter." 

"  That  is,  you  mean  to  say,  if  I  have  understood 
you  aright,  that  whatever  may  be  your  theoretical 
views  as  to  duelling  in  practice,  you  would  not 
allow  yourself  to  be  insulted  without  demanding 
satisfaction." 

"  You  have  perfectly  divined  my  thought." 

"  Very  good,  sir.  I  am  very  much  pleased  to 
hear  this  from  you.  Your  words  free  me  from 
uncertainty.  ..." 

"  From  indecision,  you  mean  to  say." 

*'  That  is  the  same  thing,  sir ;  I  am  expressing 
myself  in  this  manner  so  that  I  may  be  under- 
stood ;  I  'm  no  seminary  rat.  Your  words  release 
me  from  a  certain  sad  necessity.  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  fight  with  you." 

Bazaroff  opened  his  eyes  wide.—*'  With  me?  " 

"  Yes,  without  fail." 

"  But  what  for?  good  gracious." 

"  I  might  explain  the  cause  to  you,"— began 
Pavel  Petrovitch:— "  but  I  prefer  to  remain 
silent  on  that  point.    To  my  taste  you  are  super- 

261 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

fluous  here;  I  cannot  endure  you,  I  despise  you, 
and  if  that  is  not  enough  for  you  .  .  .  ." 

Pavel  Petrovitch's  eyes  flashed.  .  .  Bazaroff 's 
began  to  flame  also. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"— said  he.—"  Further  expla- 
nations are  unnecessary.  The  fancy  has  seized 
you  to  make  a  trial  of  your  chivalrous  spirit  on 
me.  I  might  refuse  you  that  satisfaction ;  but  let 
that  pass." 

"  I  am  intensely  indebted  to  you,"— repiled 
Pavel  Petrovitch,— "  and  can  now  hope  that  you 
will  accept  my  challenge  without  forcing  me  to 
have  recourse  to  violent  measures." 

"  That  is,  speaking  without  allegories,  to  that 
cane?  "—remarked  Bazaroff^  coolly.—"  That  is 
quite  correct.  There  is  no  necessity  whatever  for 
your  insulting  me.  And  it  is  not  entirely  devoid 
of  danger.  You  can  remain  a  gentleman.  ...  I 
accept  your  challenge,  also  in  a  gentlemanly 
manner." 

"  Very  good  indeed," — said  Pavel  Petrovitch, 
and  placed  his  cane  in  a  corner. — "  We  will  im- 
mediately say  a  few  words  about  the  conditions 
of  our  duel ;  but  first  I  should  like  to  understand 
whether  you  consider  it  indispensable  to  resort 
to  the  formality  of  a  small  preliminary  quarrel, 
which  might  serve  as  the  pretext  for  my  chal- 
lenge? " 

"  No.    It  is  better  without  any  formalities." 

"  I  think  so  myself.  I  also  assume  that  it  is  in- 
262 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

opportune  to  enter  into  the  genuine  causes  of  our 
conflict.  We  cannot  endure  each  other.  What 
more  is  needed? " 

"  What  more  is  needed?  "—repeated  BazarofF 
ironically. 

"  As  regards  the  conditions  themselves  of  the 
duel,  as  we  shall  have  no  seconds,— for  where  are 
we  to  get  them?  '* 

"  Precisely;  where  are  we  to  get  them?  " 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  propose  to  you  the  fol- 
lowing: That  we  shall  fight  to-morrow  morning 
early,  let  us  say  at  six  o'clock,  behind  the  grove, 
with  pistols ;  the  barrier  at  ten  paces.  ..." 

"  Ten  paces?  that 's  so;  we  hate  each  other  at 
that  distance." 

"  We  might  make  it  eight," — remarked  Pavel 
Petrovitch. 

"We  might;  why  not?" 

"  We  will  fire  twice ;  and  each  of  us  will  put  a 
note  in  his  pocket— in  case  of  accidents— in  which 
he  will  cast  the  blame  for  his  death  upon  himself." 

"  On  that  point  I  am  not  quite  in  accord  with 
you," — said  Bazaroff. — "  It  smacks  somewhat  of 
a  French  romance,— it  lacks  probability." 

"  Possibly.  But  you  must  admit  that  it  would 
be  unpleasant  to  subject  one's  self  to  the  suspicion 
of  having  committed  murder." 

"  I  do  admit  that.  But  there  is  a  means  of 
avoiding  that  sad  reproach.  We  shall  have  no  sec- 
onds, but  we  may  have  a  witness." 

268 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Who,  precisely,  permit  me  to  ask? " 

"  Why,  Piotr." 

"WhatPiotr?" 

"  Your  brother's  valet.  He  is  a  man  who  stands 
on  the  crest  of  contemporary  civiHsation  and  will 
play  his  part  with  all  the  comme  il  faut  indispen- 
sable in  such  cases." 

"  It  strikes  me  that  you  are  jesting,  my  dear 
sir. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  If  you  will  consider  my 
proposition,  you  wiU  become  convinced  that  it  is 
full  of  common  sense  and  simplicity.  You  cannot 
hide  an  awl  in  a  bag,  and  I  take  it  upon  myself  to 
prepare  Piotr  in  the  proper  manner,  and  bring 
him  to  the  field  of  battle." 

"  You  persist  in  jesting," — ejaculated  Pavel 
Petrovitch,  rising  from  his  seat.—"  But  after  the 
amiable  readiness  which  you  have  displayed  I 
have  no  right  to  be  too  exacting  with  you.  .  .  . 
And  so  everything  is  arranged.  .  .  .  By  the  way, 
you  have  no  pistols?  " 

"  Where  should  I  get  any  pistols,  Pavel  f*etr6- 
vitch?    I  am  not  a  warrior." 

"  In  that  case,  I  offer  you  mine.  You  may  feel 
assured  that  it  is  five  years  since  I  have  fired 
them." 

"  That  is  a  very  comforting  piece  of  news." 

P£vel  Petrovitch  got  his  cane.  ..."  And 
now,  my  dear  sir,  it  only  remains  for  me  to 
thank  you  and  surrender  you  to  your  occupa- 

264 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

tions  again.    I  have  the  honour  to  bid  you  good 
morning." 

"  Farewell  until  our  agreeable  meeting,  my 
dear  sir,"— said  Bazaroflf,  as  he  escorted  his  guest 
to  the  door. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  departed,  but  Bazaroff  stood 
still  in  front  of  the  door,  and  suddenly  exclaimed : 
"  Whew!  the  devil!  how  fine  and  how  stupid!  A 
pretty  comedy  we  have  undertaken  to  play! 
That 's  the  way  trained  dogs  dance  on  their  hind 
legs.  But  it  was  impossible  to  refuse ;  for  I  think 
he  would  have  struck  me,  and  then  ..."  (Bazar  off 
turned  pale  at  the  mere  thought ;  all  his  pride  rose 
up  in  arms.)  "  Then  I  should  have  been  obliged 
to  strangle  him  like  a  kitten."  He  returned 
to  his  microscope,  but  his  heart  was  aroused, 
and  the  composure  which  was  indispensable  for 
his  observations  had  vanished. — "  He  saw  us  to- 
day,"—he  thought,  "  but  can  it  be  that  he  is  stand- 
ing up  for  his  brother?  But  of  what  importance 
is  a  kiss  ?  There  's  something  else  here.  Ba !  is  n't 
he  in  love  himself?  Of  course  he  is;  that  is  as 
clear  as  the  day.  What  a  complicated  mess,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it !  .  .  .  It 's  a  bad  busi- 
ness !  " — he  decided  at  last : — "  it 's  a  bad  business, 
look  at  it  from  whichever  side  you  will.  In  the 
first  place,  I  must  risk  my  hf e,  and,  in  any  case, 
go  away ;  and  there 's  Arkady  .  .  .  and  that 
lady-bug,  Nikolai  Petrovitch.  'T  is  a  bad,  bad 
business." 

265 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

The  day  passed  somehow  in  a  pecuHarly  quiet 
and  languid  manner.  It  was  as  though  Fenitchka 
did  not  exist  in  the  world;  she  sat  in  her  little 
room  like  a  mouse  in  its  hole.  Nikolai  Petrovitch 
had  a  careworn  aspect.  He  had  been  informed 
that  rust  had  made  its  appearance  in  his  wheat, 
on  which  he  had  set  special  hopes.  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch crushed  every  one,  even  Prokofitch,  with  his 
icy  poHteness.  Bazaroif  began  a  letter  to  his 
father,  but  tore  it  up  and  flung  it  under  the  table. 
"  If  I  die,"— he  thought,  "  they  will  hear  of  it: 
but  I  shall  not  die.  No,  I  shall  live  on  from  hand 
to  mouth  in  this  world  for  a  long  time  to  come." 
— He  ordered  Piotr  to  come  to  him  at  daybreak 
on  the  following  morning  for  an  important  af- 
fair; Piotr  imagined  that  he  wished  to  take  him 
with  him  to  Petersburg.  Bazaroff  went  to  bed 
late,  and  incoherent  dreams  tormented  him  all 
night  long.  .  .  .  Madame  Odintzoff  hovered  be- 
fore him,  but  she  was  his  mother,  and  a  kitten  with 
black  whiskers  followed  her,  and  that  kitten  was 
Fenitchka;  but  Pavel  Petrovitch  presented  him- 
self to  him  as  a  huge  forest,  with  which,  neverthe- 
less, he  was  compelled  to  fight.  Piotr  waked  him 
at  four  o'clock ;  he  immediately  dressed  and  went 
out  with  him. 

It  was  a  splendid,  cool  morning;  tiny,  motley 
cloudlets  hung  like  snipe  in  the  clear,  pale  azure ; 
a  fine  dew  was  sprinkled  on  the  leaves  and  grass, 
and  glistened  like  silver  on  the  spiders'  webs ;  the 

266 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

moist  dark  earth  seemed  still  to  retain  the  rosy 
traces  of  the  dawn;  the  songs  of  larks  showered 
down  from  all  over  the  sky.  BazarofF  walked  to 
the  grove,  seated  himself  in  the  shadow  at  the  edge 
of  it,  and  only  then  did  he  reveal  to  Piotr  what 
service  he  expected  from  him.  The  educated 
lackey  was  frightened  to  death;  but  Bazaroff 
soothed  him  with  the  assurance  that  he  would  have 
nothing  to  do  except  stand  at  a  distance  and  look 
on,  and  that  he  was  assuming  no  responsibility 
whatever.— "And  meanwhile,"— he  added,— 
*'  think  what  an  important  part  awaits  thee!  " — 
Piotr  flung  his  hands  apart,  dropped  his  eyes,  and 
leaned  back,  all  green,  against  a  birch  tree. 

The  road  from  Marino  wound  round  the  grove ; 
a  light  dust  lay  upon  it,  as  yet  untouched  since  the 
preceding  day  by  either  wheel  or  foot.  Bazaroff 
involuntarily  gazed  along  the  road,  plucked  and 
chewed  a  blade  of  grass,  and  kept  repeating  to 
himself:  "  What  a  piece  of  stupidity!  "  The  ma- 
tutinal chill  made  him  shiver  once  or  twice.  .  .  . 
Piotr  stared  dejectedly  at  him,  but  Bazaroff  only 
grinned :  he  was  not  afraid. 

The  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  rang  out  on  the 
road.  .  .  A  peasant  made  his  appearance  from 
behind  the  trees.  He  was  driving  two  hobbled 
horses  in  front  of  him,  and,  as  he  passed  Bazaroff, 
he  looked  at  him  rather  strangely,  without  doffing 
his  cap,  which  obviously  disconcerted  Piotr  as  an 
evil  omen.    "  Here 's  another  fellow  who  has 

267 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

risen  early," — thought  BazarofF;  "but  for  busi- 
ness, at  all  events,  while  we " 

"  I  think  he  's  coming,  sir,"  whispered  Piotr 
suddenly. 

Bazaroff  raised  his  head  and  perceived  Pavel 
Petrovitch.  Clad  in  a  light  checked  sack-coat  and 
snow-white  trousers,  he  was  walking  briskly  down 
the  road ;  under  his  arm  he  carried  a  box  wrapped 
up  in  green  cloth. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  seem  to  have  made  you  wait," 
— he  said,  bowing  first  to  Bazaroff  and  then  to 
Piotr,  in  whom  he  at  that  moment  respected  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  a  second. — "  I  did  not  wish 
to  rouse  my  valet." 

"It  is  of  no  consequence,  sir,"— replied  Baza- 
roff,— "  we  have  only  just  arrived  ourselves." 

"  Ah!  so  much  the  better!  "—Pavel  Petrovitch 
cast  a  glance  around  him. — "  There  is  no  one  in 
sight,  no  one  will  interfere " 

"  Let  us  begin." 

"  You  demand  no  fresh  explanations,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Would  you  like  to  load?  "—inquired  Pavel 
Petrovitch,  taking  the  pistols  from  their  case. 

"  No ;  do  you  load,  and  I  will  measure  off  the 
paces.  My  feet  are  the  longer,"— added  Bazaroff 
with  a  sneer.—"  One,  two,  three  .  .  .  ." 

"  Evgeny  Vasilievitch,"  —  stammered  Piotr 
with  difficulty   (he  was  shaking  as  though  in  a 

268 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

fever) ,— "  I  don't  care  what  you  say,  but  I  am  go- 
ing away." 

"  Four  ....  five.  .  .  .  Go,  my  dear  fellow, 
go:  thou  mayest  even  stand  behind  a  tree  and  stop 
up  thine  ears,  only  don't  shut  thine  eyes;  and  if 
any  one  falls  run  and  lift  him  up.    Six  .  .  .  seven 

.  .  .  eight "  BazarofF  paused. — "  Is  this 

enough?  " — he  said,  addressing  Pavel  Petrovitch; 
— "or  shall  I  add  a  couple  of  paces  more?  " 

"  As  you  Hke,"— said  the  latter,  ramming  in 
the  second  bullet. 

"  Well,  let 's  add  a  couple  of  paces  more. — 
BazarofF  drew  a  hne  on  the  ground  with  the  toe 
of  his  boot. — "  Here  's  the  barrier.  Oh,  by  the 
way :  how  many  paces  is  each  of  us  to  go  from  the 
barrier?  That  also  is  an  important  question.  We 
did  not  discuss  that  yesterday.  ." 

"  Ten,  I  suppose,"— replied  Pavel  Petrovitch, 
handing  Bazaroff  both  pistols.  "  Be  so  good  as  to 
make  your  choice." 

"  I  will.  But  you  must  admit,  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch, that  our  duel  is  unusual  to  the  point  of  ab- 
surdity.   Just  look  at  the  face  of  our  second!  " 

"  You  always  want  to  jest," — repHed  Pavel 
Petrovitch. — "  I  do  not  deny  the  strangeness  of 
our  duel,  but  I  considered  it  my  duty  to  warn  you 
that  I  intend  to  fight  seriously.  A  bon  entendeur, 
salut!" 

"  Oh!  I  do  not  doubt  that  we  intend  to  exter- 
minate each  other;  but  why  not  laugh  and  com- 

269 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

bine  utile  dulci?  So  be  it:  you  talk  to  me  in 
French,  and  I  '11  talk  to  you  in  Latin." 

"  I  shall  fight  seriously,"— repeated  Pavel  Pe- 
trovitch,  and  went  to  his  post.  Bazaroff,  on  his 
side,  counted  off  ten  paces  from  the  barrier,  and 
halted. 

"  Are  you  ready?  " — asked  Pavel  Petrovitch. 

"  Perfectly." 

"  We  can  advance." 

Bazaroff  moved  slowly  forward,  and  Pavel 
Petrovitch  followed  his  example,  thrusting  his 
left  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  gradually  raising 
the  barrel  of  his  pistol.  ..."  He  is  aiming 
straight  at  my  nose," — ^thought  Bazaroff,  "  and 
how  carefully  he  is  narrowing  his  eyelids,  the 
bandit!  But  this  is  an  unpleasant  sensation;  I 
will  look  at  his  watch-chain.  .  .  ."  Something 
whizzed  sharply  close  to  Bazaroff's  ear,  and  at 
that  moment  the  sound  of  a  shot  rang  out. — "  I 
heard  it,  consequently  I  'm  all  right,"  flashed 
through  his  head.  He  advanced  another  step, 
and,  without  taking  aim,  pressed  the  trigger. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  gave  a  slight  start  and 
clapped  his  hand  to  his  hip.— A  stream  of  blood 
flowed  down  his  white  trousers. 

Bazaroff  flung  aside  his  pistol  and  ap- 
proached his  adversary. — *'  You  are  woimded?  " 
— he  said. 

"  You  had  the  right  to  call  me  to  the  bar- 
rier,"— returned  Pavel  Petrovitch: — "  but  that  is 

270 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

a  mere  trifle.  According  to  the  agreement,  each 
of  us  has  another  shot." 

"  Well,  excuse  me,  that  will  do  for  another 
time,"— replied  BazarofF,  and  caught  Pavel  Pe- 
trovitch,  who  was  beginning  to  turn  pale,  in  his 
anns. — "  I  'm  not  a  duellist  now,  but  a  doctor; 
and,  first  of  all,  I  must  inspect  your  wound. 
Piotrl  come  here,  Piotrl  where  art  thou  hiding 
thyself? " 

"  All  this  is  nonsense.  ...  I  need  assistance 
from  no  one," — faltered  Pavel  Petrovitch, — 
*'  and  ...  we  must  .  .  .  fire  .  .  again.  .  ." 
He  tried  to  twirl  his  moustache,  but  his  hand 
weakened,  his  eyes  rolled  up,  and  he  lost  con- 
sciousness. 

"  Here  's  a  pretty  state  of  things!  A  swoon! 
What's  the  cause  of  this!" — involuntarily  ex- 
claimed Bazaroff,  as  he  laid  Pavel  Petrovitch 
down  on  the  grass. — "  Let 's  see  what  sort  of  a 
performance  this  is." — He  pulled  out  his  hand- 
kerchief, wiped  away  the  blood,  and  felt  of  the 
wound.  ..."  The  bone  is  uninjured,"— he  mut- 
tered between  his  teeth, — "  the  bullet  passed 
through  not  far  below  the  skin;  one  muscle,  the 
vastus  externuSj  is  hurt.  He  can  dance,  if  he 
likes,  three  weeks  hence !  .  .  .  But  a  swoon  I  Okh, 
these  nervous  people!  Just  see  how  thin  his 
skin  is ! " 

"  Is  he  killed?  " — rustled  Piotr's  quaking  voice 
behind  his  back. 

271 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Bazaroff  glanced  round. — "  Run  for  water  as 
quickly  as  possible,  my  good  fellow,  and  he  will 
outlive  you  and  me." 

But  the  perfected  servant  appeared  not  to  un- 
derstand his  words,  and  did  not  stir  from  the  spot. 
Pavel  Petrovitch  slowly  opened  his  eyes.  "  He  is 
dying!  "  whispered  Piotr,  and  began  to  cross  him- 
self. 

"  You  are  right.  .  .  What  a  stupid  physiog- 
nomy!"— said  the  wounded  gentleman,  with  a 
forced  smile. 

"  Come,  now,  run  for  water,  you  devil! " — 
shouted  Bazaroff. 

"  It  is  not  necessary.  .  .  It  was  only  a  momen- 
tary vertige.  .  .  .  Help  me  to  sit  up  .  .  .  there, 
that 's  it.  .  .  .  All  that  is  needed  is  to  bind  up 
this  scratch  with  something,  and  then  I  will  walk 
home,  or  a  drozhky  can  be  sent  for  me.  The  duel 
need  not  be  renewed,  if  that  suits  you.  You  have 
behaved  nobly  ....  to-day — to-day,  pray  ob- 
serve." 

"  It  is  not  worth  while  to  revert  to  the  past," — 
returned  Bazaroff, — *'  and  as  for  the  future,  it  is 
not  worth  while  to  bother  our  heads  about  that 
either,  because  I  intend  to  decamp  without  delay. 
Now  let  me  bandage  your  leg ;  your  wound  is  not 
dangerous,  but  it  will  be  better,  in  any  case,  to 
stop  the  flow  of  blood.  But  first  it  is  indispen- 
sable that  this  mortal  should  be  brought  to  con- 
sciousness." 

272 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

BazarofF  shook  Piotr  by  the  collar  and  sent  him 
for  a  drozhky. 

"  See  to  it  that  thou  dost  not  alarm  my  bro- 
ther,"—Pavel  Petrovitch  said  to  him.—"  Don't 
dare  to  announce  it  to  him." 

Piotr  flew  off  at  headlong  speed ;  and  while  he 
was  running  for  the  drozhky  the  two  adversaries 
sat  on  the  ground  and  held  their  peace.  Pavel 
Petrovitch  tried  not  to  look  at  Bazaroff ;  neverthe- 
less, he  was  not  willing  to  be  reconciled  to  him; 
he  was  ashamed  of  his  own  arrogance,  of  his  lack 
of  success:  he  was  ashamed  of  this  whole  affair 
which  he  had  instigated,  although  he  also  felt  that 
it  could  not  have  ended  in  a  more  favourable  man- 
ner. "  He  will  not  hang  on  here  any  longer,  at 
all  events," — he  soothed  himself: — *'  and  for  that, 
thanks."  The  silence  continued,  awkward  and 
oppressive.  Neither  of  them  was  comfortable. 
Each  of  them  recognised  the  fact  that  the  other 
understood  him.  This  consciousness  is  agreeable 
to  friends  and  extremely  disagreeable  to  enemies, 
especially  when  it  is  impossible  for  them  either  to 
explain  themselves  or  to  separate. 

"  Have  n't  I  bandaged  your  leg  too  tightly?  " 
— asked  Bazaroff  at  last. 

"  No,  never  mind,  it  is  very  well  done,"— re- 
plied Pavel  Petrovitch,  and  after  a  brief  pause, 
he  added:—"  it  will  not  be  possible  to  deceive  my 
brother;  we  shall  have  to  tell  him  that  we  quar- 
relled over  politics." 

278 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

V  Very  good," — said  Bazaroff . — "  You  can  say 
that  I  abused  all  anglomaniacs." 

"  Capital.  What  do  you  suppose  that  man  is 
thinking  about  us  now?  " — went  on  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch,  pointing  at  that  same  peasant  who,  a  few 
minutes  previous  to  the  duel,  had  driven  past  Ba- 
zaroff the  hobbled  horses,  and  on  returning  along 
the  road  had  "  turned  out,"  and  had  pulled  off 
his  cap  at  the  sight  of  "  the  gentry." 

"  Who  knows  I  "— repHed  Bazaroff:  —  "  the 
most  likely  thing  of  all  is  that  he  thinks  nothing. 
— The  Russian  peasant  is  that  same  mysterious 
stranger  of  whom  Mrs.  Radcliffe  used  to  prate 
so  much.  Who  can  understand  him?  He  does 
not  understand  himself." 

"  Ahl  There  you  go  again!  "—Pavel  Petro- 
vitch  was  beginning,  then  suddenly  exclaimed: — 
"  See  what  our  fool  of  a  Piotr  has  done  I  There  's 
my  brother  galloping  hither  I  " 

Bazaroff  turned  round  and  perceived  the  pale 
face  of  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  who  was  seated  in  the 
drozhky.  He  sprang  out  before  it  came  to  a  halt 
and  jflew  to  his  brother.—"  What 's  the  meaning 
of  this?"— he  said  in  an  agitated  voice:— 
"  Evgeny  Vasilitch,  for  heaven's  sake,  what  is 
this?  " 

"Never  mind,"— replied  Pavel  Petrovitch:— 
"  there  was  no  necessity  for  disquieting  you.  Mr. 
Bazaroff  and  I  have  had  a  little  quarrel,  and  I 
have  paid  for  it  a  bit." 

274 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  But  for  God's  sake,  what  was  the  cause  of  all 
this?" 

"  How  can  I  explain  it  to  thee?  Bazaroff  ex- 
pressed himself  disrespectfully  about  Sir  Robert 
Peel.  I  hasten  to  add  that  I  alone  am  to  blame 
for  all  this,  and  Mr.  BazarofF  has  behaved  excel- 
lently.   I  challenged  him." 

"  But  thou  art  bleeding,  good  gracious  1 " 

"  And  didst  thou  suppose  that  I  had  water  in 
my  veins?  But  this  bloodletting  is  really  advan- 
tageous for  me.  Is  n't  that  so,  doctor?  Help  me 
to  get  into  the  drozhky,  and  don't  yield  to  melan- 
choly. To-morrow  I  shall  be  well.  There,  that 's 
right;  very  good  indeed.    Drive  on,  coachman." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  walked  after  the  drozhky. 
Bazaroff  made  a  motion  to  remain  behind 

"  I  must  request  you  to  attend  to  my  brother," 
— Nikolai  Petrovitch  said  to  him, — "  until  we  get 
another  physician  from  the  town." 

Bazaroff  bowed  in  silence. 

An  hour  later  Pavel  Petrovitch  was  lying  in 
bed,  with  his  leg  skilfully  bandaged.  The  whole 
house  was  in  a  commotion:  Fenitchka  swooned. 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  quietly  wrung  his  hands,  but 
Pavel  Petrovitch  laughed  and  jested,  especially 
with  Bazaroff ;  he  had  donned  a  fine  batiste  shirt, 
a  dandified  morning  jacket,  and  a  fez;  he  would 
not  allow  them  to  draw  down  the  shades  at  the 
windows,  and  lamented  amusingly  about  the 
necessity  of  abstaining  from  food. 

275 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

But  toward  nightfall,  he  became  feverish;  his 
head  began  to  ache.  The  doctor  from  the  town 
made  his  appearance.  (Nikolai  Petrovitch  had 
not  obeyed  his  brother,  and  Bazaroff  himself  had 
not  wished  it ;  he  had  sat  in  his  own  room  all  day 
long,  all  sallow  and  cross,  and  had  only  run  in  to 
see  the  invalid  for  the  very  briefest  space;  twice 
he  had  chanced  to  encounter  Fenitchka,  but  she 
had  jumped  away  from  him  in  horror. )  The  new 
doctor  advised  cooling  beverages,  but  otherwise 
confirmed  Bazaroff 's  assertions  that  no  danger 
was  to  be  apprehended.  Nikolai  Petrovitch  told 
him  that  his  brother  had  wounded  himself  through 
heedlessness,  to  which  the  doctor  replied:  "H'ml" 
—but  on  receiving  upon  the  spot  twenty-five 
rubles,  silver,  in  hand,  he  said :  "  You  don't  say 
sol  that  often  happens,  really." 

No  one  in  the  house  went  to  bed  or  undressed. 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  kept  stealing  into  his  brother's 
room  on  tiptoe  and  steahng  out  again  on  tiptoe: 
the  latter  dozed,  groaned  softly,  said  to  him  in 
French'/' Couchez-vous,^' —and  asked  for  a  drink. 
Once  Nikolai  Petrovitch  made  Fenitchka  bring 
him  a  glass  of  lemonade;  Pavel  Petrovitch  re- 
garded her  intently,  and  drank  the  glass  to  the 
bottom.  Toward  morning  the  fever  increased 
somewhat,  a  slight  delirium  made  its  appearance. 
At  first  Pavel  Petrovitch  uttered  incoherent 
words ;  then  he  suddenly  opened  his  eyes,  and  per- 
ceiving his  brother  at  his  bedside  bending  anx- 

276 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

iously  over  him,  he  said: — "  Fenitchka  has  some- 
thing in  common  with  Nelly,  has  n't  she, 
Nikolai? " 

"  With  what  NeUy,  Pasha?  " 

"  How  canst  thou  ask?  With  Princess  R.  .  .  . 
Especially  in  the  upper  part  of  the  face.  C'est  de 
la  meme  famillej" 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  made  no  reply,  hut  mar- 
velled within  himself  at  the  vitality  of  old  feelings 
in  a  man.  "  It 's  coming  to  the  surface,"  he 
thought. 

"  Akh,  how  I  love  that  vain  creature!" — 
moaned  Pavel  Petrovitch,  sadly  flinging  his  arms 
above  his  head. — "  I  cannot  endure  it  when  some 
audacious  fellow  dares  to  touch  .  .  .  ."he  stam- 
mered a  few  moments  later. 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  merely  sighed;  he  did  not 
suspect  to  whom  those  words  applied. 

BazarofF  presented  himself  to  him  at  eight 
o'clock  on  the  following  morning.  He  had 
already  managed  to  pack,  and  to  set  at  liberty 
all  his  frogs,  insects,  and  birds. 

"  You  have  come  to  bid  me  farewell?  " — said 
Nikolai  Petrovitch,  rising  to  greet  him. 

"  Exactly  so,  sir." 

"  I  understand  you,  and  I  fully  approve  of 
your  course.  My  poor  brother,  of  course,  is  to 
blame:  and  he  has  been  punished.  He  told  me 
himself  that  he  had  placed  you  in  such  a  position 
that  it  was  impossible  for  you  to  refuse.    I  believe 

277 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

that  you  could  not  have  avoided  this  duel,  which 
.  .  .  which,  to  a  certain  extent,  is  accounted  for 
merely  by  the  constant  antagonism  of  your 
mutual  views."  (Nikolai  Petrovitch  had  got  en- 
tangled in  his  words.)  "  My  brother  is  a  man  of 
the  old  stamp,  irascible  and  morose.  .  .  .  Thank 
God  that  it  has  ended  thus.  I  have  taken  all  nec- 
essary measures  to  avoid  pubhcity.  ..." 

"  I  wiU  leave  you  my  address,  in  case  any  un- 
pleasantness arises,"— remarked  Bazaroff  care- 
lessly. 

"  I  hope  that  no  unpleasantness  wiU  arise, 
Evgeny  Vasilitch.  ...  I  am  very  sorry  that 
your  sojourn  in  my  house  should  have  had  such 
.  .  .  such  an  ending.  I  am  the  more  distressed 
because  Arkady " 

"  I  shall  certainly  see  him  again,"— returned 
BazaroiF,  in  whom  every  sort  of  "  explanation  " 
and  '*  declaration  "  always  aroused  a  sentiment  of 
impatience;— "  if  I  do  not,  I  beg  that  you  will 
give  him  my  regards  and  accept  the  expression  of 
my  regret." 

"  And  I  beg  .  .  ."  repHed  Nikolai  Petrovitch, 
with  a  bow.  But  Bazaroff  did  not  await  the  end 
of  his  phrase,  and  left  the  room. 

On  hearing  that  Bazaroff  was  about  to  depart, 
Pavel  Petrovitch  expressed  a  wish  to  see  him  and 
to  shake  hands  with  him.  But  here  also  Bazaroff 
remained  as  cold  as  ice;  he  comprehended  that 
Pavel  Petrovitch  wished  to  appear  magnanimous. 

278 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

He  did  not  succeed  in  bidding  Fenitchka  good- 
bye; he  merely  exchanged  a  glance  with  her 
through  a  window.  Her  face  seemed  sad  to  him. 
"  She  '11  go  to  destruction  probably!  "—he  said  to 
himself.  ..."  Well,  she  '11  extricate  herself, 
somehow  or  other!  '* 

On  the  other  hand,  Piotr  was  so  overcome  with 
emotion  that  he  wept  on  his  shoulder,  until  Baza- 
roif  froze  him  with  the  question:  "Wasn't  he 
a  cry-baby? "  while  Dunyasha  was  compelled 
to  flee  to  the  grove  to  conceal  her  agitation. 
The  cause  of  all  this  woe  clambered  into  the 
peasant  cart,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  when,  at  the 
fourth  verst,  at  a  turn  of  the  road,  the  Kirsanoff 
farm,  with  its  new  manor-house,  presented  itself, 
all  spread  out  in  a  line  to  his  eyes  for  the  last  time, 
he  merely  spat,  and  muttering:  "  Cursed  stuck-up 
gentry!"  wrapped  himself  more  closely  in  his 
cloak. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  soon  improved;  but  he  was 
obliged  to  keep  his  bed  for  about  a  week.  He 
bore  his  captivity ,  as  he  expressed  it,  with  consid- 
erable patience,  only  he  made  a  great  fuss  over  his 
toilet,  and  kept  giving  orders  that  they  should 
fumigate  with  eau  de  cologne.  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch read  the  newspapers  to  him;  Fenitchka 
waited  on  him  as  of  yore,  brought  his  bouillon, 
lemonade,  soft-boiled  eggs,  tea ;  but  a  secret  terror 
took  possession  of  her  every  time  she  entered  his 
chamber.    Pavel    Petrovitch's    unexpected    be- 

279 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

haviour  had  frightened  all  the  people  in  the 
house,  and  her  most  of  all;  Prokofitch  alone  re- 
mained unperturbed,  and  explained  that  the  gen- 
try were  wont,  in  his  time,  to  fight  "  only  noble 
gentlemen,  among  themselves,  but  loafers  they 
would  have  ordered  to  be  thrashed  in  the  stables 
for  their  insolence." 

Fenitchka's  conscience  hardly  reproached  her 
at  all;  but  the  thought  of  the  real  cause  of  the 
quarrel  tortured  her  at  times;  and,  moreover, 
Pavel  Petrovitch  gazed  at  her  in  such  a  strange 
way  ....  in  such  a  way,  that  even  when  she  had 
her  back  turned  toward  him  she  felt  his  eyes 
upon  her.  She  grew  thin  from  incessant  inward 
perturbation,  and,  as  is  usual,  became  prettier 
than  ever. 

One  day — it  happened  in  the  morning, — Pavel 
Petrovitch  felt  well,  and  had  transferred  himself 
from  the  bed  to  the  divan,  and  Nikolai  Petrovitch, 
after  inquiring  about  his  health,  had  betaken  him- 
self to  the  threshing-floor.  Fenitchka  brought  a 
cup  of  tea,  and,  placing  it  on  a  small  table,  was 
on  the  point  of  withdrawing.  Pavel  Petrovitch 
detained  her. 

"  Whither  away  in  such  haste,  Fedosya  Niko- 
laevna,"— he  began:— "have  you  something  to 
do?" 

"  No,  sir  ...  I  must  pour  out  the  tea." 

"  Dunyasha  can  do  that  without  you ;  sit  a  while 
with  the  sick  man.  By  the  way,  I  must  have  a 
talk  with  you." 

280 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

Fenitchka  silently  seated  herself  on  the  edge 
of  an  arm-chair. 

"  Listen,"— said  Pavel  Petrovitch,  and  tugged 
at  his  moustache,—*'  I  have  long  wished  to  ask 
you :  you  seem  to  be  afraid  of  me?  " 

"I,  sir?  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  you.  You  never  look  at  me,  just  as 
though  your  conscience  were  not  clear." 

Fenitchka  blushed,  but  glanced  at  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch. He  struck  her  as  rather  strange,  and  her 
heart  quivered  softly. 

"  Your  conscience  is  clear,  is  n't  it?  " — he  asked 
her. 

"  Why  should  n't  it  be  clear?  " — she  whispered. 

"  As  if  there  were  not  cause? — However, 
before  whom  should  you  be  guilty?  Before  me? 
That  is  not  probable.  Before  other  persons  here 
in  the  house?  That  also  is  an  impossibility.  Be- 
fore my  brother,  perchance?  But  surely  you  love 
him?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  With  all  your  soul,  with  all  your  heart?  " 

"  I  love  Nikolai  Petrovitch  with  all  my  heart." 

"Really?  Look  at  me,  Fenitchka"  (he  called 
her  this  for  the  first  time)  .  .  .  .  "  You  know  it 
is  a  great  sin  to  He !  " 

"  I  am  not  lying,  Pavel  Petrovitch.  If  I  did 
not  love  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  I  should  not  want  to 
live  any  longer." 

"  And  you  would  not  betray  him  for  any  one?  " 

"  For  whom  should  I  betray  him?  " 
281 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

"As  if  there  were  no  one!  Why,  for  ex- 
ample, for  that  gentleman  who  went  away  from 
here." 

Fenitchka  rose  to  her  feet.—"  O  Lord,  my 
God,  Pavel  Petrovitch,  why  do  you  torture  me? 
What  have  I  done  to  you?  How  is  it  possible  to 
talk  like  that?  .  .  .  ." 

"  Fenitchka,"— said  Pavel  Petrovitch  in  a  mel- 
ancholy voice,—"  you  know  I  saw " 

"  What  did  you  see,  sir?  " 

"  Why,  yonder  ...  in  the  arbour." 

Fenitchka  turned  all  crimson,  to  her  very  hair 
and  her  ears. — "  And  how  am  I  to  blame  for 
that?  "—she  articulated  with  difficulty. 

Pavel  Petrovitch  half  rose. — "  You  are  not  to 
blame?    No?    Not  in  the  least?  " 

"  I  love  no  one  in  the  world  but  Nikolai  Petro- 
vitch, and  I  shall  love  him  forever!" — said 
Fenitchka,  with  sudden  force,  while  sobs  swelled 
her  throat.  "  And  as  for  what  you  saw,  I  shall 
say,  at  the  Last  Judgment,  that  I  am  not  and  was 
not  to  blame  for  that ;  and  I  would  rather  die  at 
once,  if  I  am  to  be  suspected  of  such  a  thing,  as 

that toward     my     benefactor     Nikolai 

Petrovitch.  ...  I  ...  ." 

But  here  her  voice  failed  her,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  she  felt  Pavel  Petrovitch  grasp  and  squeeze 
her  hand.  .  .  .  She  looked  at  him  and  was  fairly 
petrified.  He  had  become  more  pallid  than  be- 
fore; his  eyes  were  shining,  and,  what  was  most 

282 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

wonderful  of  all,  a  heavy,  isolated  tear  was  rolling 
down  his  cheek. 

"  Fenitchka  I  "—he  said,  in  a  queer  sort  of  whis- 
per : — "  love,  love  my  brother !  He  is  such  a  kind, 
good  man !  Do  not  betray  him  for  any  one  in  the 
world,  do  not  listen  to  anybody's  speeches  I  Think, 
what  can  be  more  dreadful  than  to  love  and  not  be 
beloved  I    Never  abandon  my  poor  Nikolai !  " 

Fenitchka's  eyes  grew  dry,  and  her  terror 
passed  off, — so  great  was  her  amazement.  But 
what  was  her  state  of  mind  when  Pavel  Petro- 
vitch — Pavel  Petrovitch  himself — pressed  her 
hand  to  his  lips,  and  fairly  hung  over  it,  not 
kissing  it,  and  only  sighing  from  time  to  time  in 
a  convulsive  manner.  .  .  . 

"  O  Lord,"— she  thought, — "  can  it  be  that  he 
has  a  fit?  .  .  ." 

But  at  that  moment  his  whole  ruined  life  was 
throbbing  within  him. 

The  stairs  creaked  under  swift  footsteps.  .  .  . 
He  thrust  her  away  from  him,  and  threw  his  head 
back  on  his  pillow.  The  door  opened, — and 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  made  his  appearance,  merry, 
fresh,  rosy -cheeked.  Mitya,  as  fresh  and  rosy  as 
his  father,  clad  only  in  his  httle  shirt,  was  jump- 
ing about  on  his  breast,  clutching  with  his  little 
bare  feet  at  the  big  buttons  of  his  rustic  coat. 

Fenitchka  fairly  flew  to  him,  and  throwing  her 
arms  around  both  him  and  her  son,  dropped  her 
head  on  his  shoulder.    Nikolai  Petrovitch  was  as- 

283 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

tonished;  Fenitchka,  reserved  and  modest,  had 
never  caressed  him  in  the  presence  of  a  third 
person. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  thee?  "—he  said,  and 
glancing  at  his  brother,  he  transferred  Mitya  to 
her.—"  Thou  dost  not  feel  worse?  "—he  asked, 
approaching  Pavel  Petrovitch. 

The  latter  had  buried  his  face  in  a  batiste  hand- 
kerchief.— "  No  ...  it    is    just never 

mind On  the  contrary,  I  am  much  better." 

"  Thou  wert  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  get  to 
the  divan.  Whither  art  thou  going? " — added 
Nikolai  Petrovitch,  turning  to  Fenitchka ;  but  she 
had  already  banged  the  door  behind  her.—"  I  had 
brought  my  sturdy  young  warrior  to  show  thee; 
he  was  longing  for  his  uncle.  Why  has  she  taken 
him  away?  But  what  ails  thee?  Has  anything 
happened  between  you  two? " 

"  Brother!  " — said  Pavel  Petrovitch  solemnly. 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  quaked.  Dread  fell  upon 
him — he  himself  did  not  know  why. 

"  Brother,"  —  repeated  Pavel  Petrovitch, — 
"  give  me  thy  word  to  fulfil  my  request." 

"  What  request?    Speak." 

"  It  is  very  important;  in  my  opinion,  the  entire 
happiness  of  thy  life  depends  upon  it.  All  this 
time  I  have  been  meditating  a  great  deal  about 
what  I  am  now  going  to  say  to  thee.  .  .  .  Bro- 
ther, fulfil  thy  duty,  the  duty  of  an  honest  and 
noble  man;  put  an  end  to  the  scandal  and  bad 

284 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

example  which  is  caused  by  thee,  the  best  of 
men!" 

"  What  is  it  thou  meanest  to  say,  Pavel?  " 

"  Marry  Fenitchka.  .  .  .  She  loves  thee.  She 
is  the  mother  of  thy  son." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  retreated  a  pace  and  clasped 
his  hands.—"  Is  it  thou  who  sayest  this,  Pavel? 
— thou  whom  I  have  always  regarded  as  the  most 
inexorable  antagonist  of  such  marriages!  Thou 
sayest  this!  But  can  it  be  that  thou  dost  not 
know  that  it  was  solely  out  of  respect  for  thee 
that  I  have  not  fulfilled  that  which  thou  hast 
rightly  designated  as  my  duty? " 

"  It  was  a  mistake  for  thee  to  respect  me  in  this 
instance," — returned  Pavel  Petrovitch  with  a  mel- 
ancholy smile. — "  I  am  beginning  to  think  that 
Bazaroff  was  right  when  he  reproached  me  with 
being  aristocratic.  No,  my  dear  brother,  it  is  time 
for  us  to  cease  putting  on  airs,  and  think  of  the 
world:  we  are  already  old  and  peaceable  men;  it 
is  time  for  us  to  lay  aside  all  vanity.  We  will,  as 
thou  sayest,  fulfil  our  duty ;  and,  lo,  we  shall  also 
receive  happiness  into  the  bargain." 

Nikolai  Petrovitch  flew  to  embrace  his  brother. 

"Thou  hast  finally  opened  my  eyes!"— he 
cried.—"  Not  in  vain  have  I  always  maintained 
that  thou  art  the  kindest  and  wisest  man  in  the 
world;  but  now  I  see  that  thou  art  as  sagacious  as 
thou  art  magnanimous." 

"Softly,    softly,"— Pavel    Petrovitch    inter- 

285 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

rupted  him.— "Do  not  irritate  the  leg  of  thy 
sagacious  brother,  who,  at  the  age  of  fifty,  has 
fought  a  duel  like  an  ensign.  So  that  affair  is 
settled:  Fenitchka  is  to  be  my  ....  helle-soeur** 

"  My  dear  Pavel!  But  what  will  Arkady  say?  " 

"  Arkady?  He  will  go  into  raptures,  take  my 
word  for  it!  Marriage  is  not  among  his  princi- 
ples, but  the  sentiment  of  equality  in  him  will  be 
flattered.  And,  in  fact,  what  are  castes  au  dice- 
neuviime  siecle?  " 

"  Akh,  Pavel,  Pavel !  let  me  kiss  thee  again. 
Don't  be  afraid,  I  will  be  cautious." 

The  brothers  embraced. 

"  What  dost  thou  think, — would  it  not  be  well 
for  thee  to  announce  thine  intention  to  her  at 
once?  " — asked  Pavel  Petrovitch. 

"  What  need  is  there  of  haste?  "—returned 
Nikolai  Petrovitch.—"  Did  you  discuss  it?  " 

"  Did  we  discuss  it?    Quelle  idee! " 

"  Well,  verj^  good.  First  of  all,  get  well,  and 
that  will  not  escape  us;  we  must  think  it  over 
thoroughly,  consider    ,  .  .  ." 

"  But  I  thought  thou  hadst  made  up  thy 
mind?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have ;  and  I  thank  thee  from  my 
soul.  Now  I  will  leave  thee;  thou  must  rest;  all 
agitation  is  injurious  to  thee.  .  .  .  But  we  will 
discuss  it  again.  Go  to  sleep,  my  dear  soul,  and 
God  give  thee  health!  " 

"  Why  does  he  thank  me  so?  "  thought  Pavel 
286 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Petrovitch,  when  he  was  left  alone.  "  As  if  it  did 
not  depend  on  him !  And  I,  as  soon  as  he  is  mar- 
ried, will  go  away  somewhere,  as  far  as  possible, 
to  Dresden  or  Florence,  and  I  will  live  there  until 
I  die." 

Pavel  Petrovitch  moistened  his  brow  with  eau 
de  cologne,  and  closed  his  eyes.  Illuminated  by 
the  brilliant  daylight,  his  handsome,  emaciated 
head  lay  on  the  white  pillow  like  the  head  of  a 
corpse.  .  .  And  he  was  a  corpse. 


287 


XXV 

At  Nikolskoe,  in  the  garden,  under  the  shadow  of 
a  lofty  ash-tree,  Katya  and  Arkady  were  sitting 
on  a  turf  bench;  on  the  ground  beside  them  Fifi 
had  estabHshed  himself,  imparting  to  his  long 
body  that  elegant  curve  which  is  known  to  sports- 
men as  "  the  grey-hare  pose."  Both  Arkady  and 
Katya  were  silent;  he  held  in  his  hands  a  half- 
opened  book,  while  she  was  collecting  from  a 
basket  the  crumbs  of  white  bread  which  still  re- 
mained in  it,  and  tossing  them  to  a  small  family 
of  sparrows,  which,  with  the  pusillanimous  au- 
dacity peculiar  to  their  kind,  were  hopping  and 
chirping  around  her  very  feet.  A  faint  breeze, 
rustling  the  leaves  of  the  ash,  shifted  softly  to  and 
fro  along  the  dark  path  and  Fifi's  yellow  back, 
pale-golden  patches  of  light ;  a  level  shade  encom- 
passed Arkady  and  Katya;  only  from  time  to 
time  did  a  brilliant  streak  kindle  in  her  hair. 
Both  maintained  silence ;  but  precisely  the  manner 
in  which  they  were  silent,  in  which  they  sat  side 
by  side,  expressed  trusting  intimacy:  neither  of 
them  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  his  neighbour,  yet 
each  was  secretly  glad  of  the  other's  proximity. 
Their  faces  also  have  undergone  a  change  since 

288 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

we  last  beheld  them:  Arkady  seems  more  com- 
posed, Katya  more  animated,  more  self-pos- 
sessed. 

"  Don't  you  think,"— began  Arkady,—"  that 
the  ash-tree  bears  a  very  appropriate  name  in 
Russian :  *  no  other  tree  pierces  the  air  so  lightly 
and  clearly  as  it  does." 

Katya  raised  her  eyes  aloft,  and  said,  "  Yes," 
and  Arkady  thought:  "This  one  does  not  re- 
proach me  for  expressing  myself  in  fine  lan- 
guage/' 

"  I  don't  like  Heine,"— began  Katya,  indicat- 
ing with  her  eyes  the  book  which  Arkady  held  in 
his  hands: — "  either  when  he  laughs  or  when  he 
weeps;  I  love  him  when  he  is  thoughtful  and 
sad." 

"  But  he  pleases  me  when  he  laughs," — re- 
marked Arkady. 

"  Those  are  the  old  traces  in  you  of  your  satiri- 
cal tendency.  .  ."("Old  traces!  "—thought  Ar- 
kady;— "if  Bazaroff  were  to  hear  that  I") 
"  Wait,  we  will  make  you  over." 

"  Who  will  make  me  over?    You?  " 

"  Who?— my  sister;  Porfiry  Platonovitch, 
with  whom  you  no  longer  quarrel;  aunty,  whom 
you  escorted  to  church  the  day  before  yesterday." 

"  I  could  n't  refuse!  And  as  for  Anna  Sergye- 
evna,  she  herself,  you  remember,  agreed  with 
Evgeny  on  many  points." 

1  Yagen,  "ash-tree;"  yasno,  "clearly."— TEAwaLATPOB. 
289 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  My  sister  was  under  his  influence  then,  just 
as  you  were." 

"  Just  as  I  was?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
notice  that  I  have  abeady  freed  myself  from  his 
influence? " 

Katya  made  no  reply. 

"  I  know,"— pursued  Arkady,—"  that  you 
never  did  like  him." 

"  I  cannot  judge  of  him." 

"  Do  you  know  what,  Katerina  Sergyeevna? 
Every  time  I  hear  that  answer  I  do  not  beheve 
in  it.  .  .  .  There  is  no  man  as  to  whom  any  one 
of  us  cannot  pronounce  judgment  I  That  is  sim- 
ply an  evasion." 

"  Well,  then  I  will  tell  you  that  I  ....  do  not 
exactly  dislike  him,  but  I  feel  that  he  is  a  stranger 
to  me,  and  I  have  nothing  in  common  with  him 
and  neither  have  you." 

"Why  so?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  you?  .  .  .  He  is  a  bird  of 
prey,  while  you  and  I  are  tame." 

"  And  am  I  tame  also? " 

Katya  nodded. 

Arkady  scratched  behind  his  ear. — "  See  here, 
Katerina  Sergyeevna,  you  know  that  is  really  in- 
sulting." 

"  Would  you  really  like  to  be  a  bird  of  prey? " 

"  A  bird  of  prey— no,  but  strong,  energetic." 

"  That  cannot  be  had  by  wishing.  .  .  There  's 
your  friend— he  does  not  wish  it,  but  it  is  in  him." 

290 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  H'm  I  So  you  think  he  had  great  influence  on 
Anna  Sergyeevna? " 

"  Yes.  But  no  one  can  keep  the  upper  hand  of 
her  for  long,"— added  Katya,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Why  do  you  think  that?  " 

"  She  is  very  proud.  ...  I  did  not  mean  to  say 
that  ....  she  sets  a  high  value  on  her  indepen- 
dence." 

"  And  who  does  not?  "—asked  Arkady,  and 
through  his  mind  there  flashed :  "  What  good 
does  it  do  her?  "— "  What  good  does  it  do  her?  " 
also  flashed  through  Katya's  mind.  When  young 
people  meet  often  on  friendly  terms,  the  same 
thoughts  are  constantly  occurring  to  them. 

Arkady  smiled,  and  moving  a  little  closer  to 
Katya,  said  in  a  whisper:—"  Confess  that  you  are 
a  little  afraid  of  her." 

"Of  whom?" 

"  Of  A^r/^— repeated  Arkady  significantly. 

"  And  you?  " — questioned  Katya,  in  her  turn. 

"  And  I  also ;  observe,  I  say :  and  I  also." 

Katya  shook  her  finger  at  him.—"  I  am  sur- 
prised,"— she  began: — "  my  sister  has  never  been 
so  favourably  disposed  toward  you  as  at  precisely 
the  present  moment;  much  more  so  than  during 
your  first  visit." 

"  Here  's  news !  " 

"But  haven't  you  noticed  it?  Aren't  you 
pleased?  " 

Arkady  meditated. 

291 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"How  have  I  won  Anna  Sergyeevna's  good 
will?  Must  it  not  have  been  because  I  brought 
her  your  mother's  letter?  " 

"  For  that  reason,  and  there  are  other  causes, 
which  I  will  not  mention." 

"  Why  not? " 

"  I  won't  tell." 

"  Oh!  I  know:  you  are  very  stubborn." 
1  am. 

"  And  observing." 

Katya  shot  a  sidelong  glance  at  Arkady. — 
"  Perhaps  that  enrages  you?  What  are  you 
thinking  about? " 

"  I  am  thinking  where  you  could  have  got  that 
observation  which  you  really  do  possess.  You  are 
so  timorous,  distrustful ;  you  are  afraid  of  every- 
body. .  .  ." 

"  I  have  lived  much  alone ;  one  begins,  invol- 
untarily, to  think  a  great  deal  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. But  am  I  really  afraid  of  every- 
body? " 

Arkady  threw  a  penetrating  glance  at  Katya. 

"  AU  this  is  very  fine,"— he  went  on,— "but 
people  in  your  position— I  mean  to  say,  with 
your  means— rarely  possess  that  gift;  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  the  truth  to  make  its  way  to  them,  as  it  is 
to  kings." 

"  But  I  'm  not  rich,  you  know." 

Arkady  was  surprised,  and  did  not  at  once  un- 
derstand Katya.    "  And,  in  fact,  all  the  property 

292 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

does  belong  to  her  sister!  "  occurred  to  his  mind; 
this  thought  was  not  unpleasant  to  him. — "  How 
well  you  said  that!  "  he  said. 

"  What? " 

"  You  spoke  well ;  simply  without  confusion  or 
affectation.  By  the  way:  I  imagine  that  there 
must  be  something  peculiar — a  sort  of  ostenta- 
tion—in the  feeling  of  a  person  who  knows  and 
says  that  he  is  poor." 

"  I  have  experienced  nothing  of  the  sort,  thanks 
to  my  sister;  I  mentioned  my  position  simply  be- 
cause the  words  slipped  off  my  tongue." 

"  Exactly.  But  confess  that  there  is  in  you  a 
little  bit  of  that  ostentation  of  which  I  just 
spoke." 

"For  example?" 

"  For  example,  of  course, — pardon  my  ques- 
tion,— you  would  not  marry  a  wealthy  man." 

"  If  I  loved  him  very  much.  .  .  No,  I  think  I 
would  not  marry  him  even  then." 

"Ah!  there,  you  see!  "—exclaimed  Arkady, 
and,  after  a  brief  pause,  he  added:—"  But  why 
would  n't  you  marry  him?  " 

"  Because  they  sing  in  the  ballad  about  in- 
equality." 

"  Perhaps  you  want  to  rule,  or  .  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  no!  Why  should  I?  On  the  contrary,  I 
am  ready  to  submit ;  only  inequality  is  oppressive. 
But  I  do  understand  respecting  one's  self  and 
submitting;  that  is  happiness;  but  not  an  ex- 

293 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

istence  of  subjugation.  .  .  No,  I  am  satisfied  as 
I  am." 

"  Satisfied  as  you  are,"— repeated  Arkady 
after  Katya.— "  Yes,  yes,"— he  went  on;—"  it  is 
not  for  nothing  that  you  are  of  one  blood  with 
Anna  Sergyeevna;  you  are  as  independent  as 
she  is;  but  you  are  more  secretive.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  on  no  account  would  you  be  the  first 
to  express  your  feelings,  no  matter  how  powerful 
and  sacred  they  might  be.  .  .  ." 

"  But  how  could  it  be  otherwise?  " — inquired 
Katya. 

"You  are  equally  clever;  you  have  as  much 
character  as  she  has,  if  not  more.  .  .  ." 

"  Do  not  compare  me  with  my  sister,  please," 
— interposed  Katya  hurriedly, — "  it  is  too  dis- 
advantageous to  me.  You  appear  to  have  for- 
gotten that  my  sister  is  a  beauty  and  a  wit,  and 
.  .  .  you,  in  particular,  Arkady  Nikolaitch, 
ought  not  to  utter  such  words,  and  with  such  a 
serious  countenance  into  the  bargain." 

"  What  does  this  mean,  '  You  in  particular? ' 
—and  from  what  do  you  conclude  that  I  am 
jesting? " 

"  Of  course  you  are  jesting." 

"Do  you  think  so?  But  what  if  I  am  con- 
vinced of  what  I  am  saying?  What  if  I  am  of 
the  opinion  that  I  have  not  even  yet  expressed 
myself  with  sufficient  force?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you.** 
294 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

"  Really?  Well,  now  I  see:  I  really  have  ex- 
aggerated your  power  of  observation." 

"  What? " 

Arkady  made  no  reply  and  turned  away,  while 
Katya  rummaged  out  a  few  more  crumbs  in  her 
basket,  and  began  to  toss  them  to  the  sparrows ; 
but  the  sweep  of  her  hand  was  too  vigorous,  and 
the  birds  flew  away  without  managing  to  peck. 

"  Katerina  Sergyeevnal  "  —  began  Arkady 
suddenly:—"  it  makes  no  diiFerence  to  you,  prob- 
ably; but  you  must  know  that  I  would  not  ex- 
change you  not  only  for  your  sister,  but  for  any 
one  in  the  world." 

He  rose  and  walked  swiftly  away,  as  though 
frightened  at  the  words  which  had  dropped  from 
his  tongue. 

And  Katya  dropped  both  her  hands,  together 
with  the  basket,  on  her  lap,  and  bowing  her  head, 
gazed  after  Arkady.  Little  by  little,  a  scarlet 
flush  faintly  tinged  her  cheeks;  but  her  lips  did 
not  smile,  and  her  dark  eyes  expressed  surprise, 
and  some  other,  as  yet  nameless,  feeling. 

"  Art  thou  alone?  " — Anna  Sergyeevna's 
voice  resounded  near  her. — "  I  thought  thou 
hadst  gone  into  the  garden  with  Arkady." 

Katya,  without  haste,  turned  her  eyes  on  her 
sister  (elegantly,  even  exquisitely  attired,  she  was 
standing  on  the  path,  and  tickhng  Fifi's  ears  with 
the  tip  of  her  open  parasol),  and  said,  also  with- 
out haste: — "  I  am  alone." 

295 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  perceive  that,"— replied  the  other,  with  a 
laugh:— "he  must  have  gone  off  to  his  own 
room." 

"  Yes." 

"  Have  you  been  reading  together?  " 

"  Yes." 

Anna  Sergyeevna  took  Katya  by  the  chin  and 
raised  her  face. 

"  You  have  not  quarrelled,  I  hope?  " 

"  No,"— said  Katj^a,  and  gently  put  aside  her 
sister's  hand. 

"  How  solemnly  thou  answerest  I  I  thought  I 
should  find  him  here,  and  would  suggest  to  him 
that  he  take  a  stroll  with  me.  He  is  always  beg- 
ging me  to  do  that.  Thy  shoes  have  been  brought 
from  town;  go  and  try  them  on:  I  noticed 
yesterday  that  those  thou  art  now  wearing 
are  quite  worn  out.  In  general,  thou  dost  not 
pay  sufficient  attention  to  that  point,  yet 
thou  hast  such  charming  little  feet!  And  thy 
hands  are  good  .  .  .  only  large;  so  thou  must 
captivate  with  the  tiny  feet.  But  thou  art  not  a 
coquette." 

Anna  Sergyeevna  went  her  way  along  the 
path,  her  handsome  gown  rustling  faintly; 
Katya  rose  from  the  bench,  and  taking  with  her 
Heine,  went  away  also — only  not  to  try  on  her 
shoes. 

"  Charming  little  feet,"— she  thought,  as  she 
walked  slowly  and  lightly  up  the  stone  steps  of 

296 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

the  terrace,  which  were  red-hot  with  the  sun; — 
"  charming  little  feet,  you  say.  .  .  .  Well,  and  he 
shall  be  at  them." 

But  she  immediately  felt  ashamed,  and  ran 
nimbly  up-stairs. 

Arkady  walked  along  the  corridor  to  his  room ; 
the  butler  overtook  him,  and  announced  that  Mr. 
BazarofF  was  sitting  in  his  chamber. 

"  Evgeny!  "—muttered  Arkady,  almost  in 
terror. 

"  He  has  just  this  moment  come,  and  gave  or- 
ders that  his  arrival  should  not  be  announced  to 
Anna  Sergyeevna,  and  bade  me  conduct  him 
straight  to  you." 

"  Can  a  catastrophe  have  happened  at  our 
house?  " — thought  Arkady,  and  running  hastily 
up-stairs  to  his  room,  he  flung  open  the  door. 
BazaroiF's  aspect  instantaneously  calmed  him,  al- 
though a  more  experienced  eye  probably  would 
have  detected  in  the  figure  of  the  unexpected  vis- 
itor, energetic  as  of  yore  but  haggard,  the  tokens 
of  inward  agitation.  With  his  dusty  cloak  on  his 
shoulders,  and  his  cap  on  his  head,  he  was  sitting 
on  the  window-sill ;  he  did  not  rise,  even  when  Ar- 
kady flung  himself  upon  his  neck,  with  noisy  ex- 
clamations. 

"  What  a  surprise!  How  does  it  happen!  " — 
he  kept  repeating,  as  he  bustled  about  the  room 
like  a  man  who  imagines,  and  is  trying  to  demon- 
strate, that  he  is  delighted.—"  Everything  is  all 

297 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

right  at  our  house,  of  course;  they  are  all  well, 
are  n't  they?" 

"  Everything  at  thy  home  is  all  right,  but  all 
are  not  well," — said  Bazaroff. — "  But  don't  jab- 
ber: order  them  to  bring  me  some  kvas;  sit  down 
and  listen  to  what  I  will  impart  to  thee  in  a  few, 
but,  I  hope,  fairly  forcible  phrases." 

Arkady  grew  mute,  and  Bazaroif  narrated  to 
him  the  story  of  his  duel  with  Pavel  Petrovitch. 
Arkady  was  greatly  amazed,  and  even  grieved; 
but  he  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  say  so;  he 
merely  asked  whether  his  uncle's  wound  were 
really  not  dangerous,  and,  on  receiving  the  reply, 
— that  it  was  extremely  interesting,  only  not  in  a 
medical  sense, — he  smiled  in  a  constrained  way, 
and  dread  fell  upon  his  heart,  and  he  felt  some- 
what ashamed.  BazaroiF  seemed  to  understand 
him. 

"  Yes,  brother," — he  said, — "  that 's  what  it 
means  to  live  with  feudal  lords.  Thou  wilt  fall 
into  feudal  ways,  and  take  part  in  knightly  tour- 
neys. Well,  sir,  so  I  took  myself  off  to  '  the 
fathers,'  " — BazaroiF  wound  up, — "  and  on  the 

way  I  dropped  in  here in  order  to  inform 

thee  of  all  this,  I  would  have  said,  if  I  did  not 
regard  a  useless  lie  as  a  piece  of  stupidity.  No,  I 
dropped  in  here — the  devil  knows  why.  You  see, 
it  is  useful  for  a  man,  once  in  a  while,  to  grab 
himself  by  the  topknot  and  pluck  himself  out,  like 
a  radish  from  a  garden-bed ;  I  performed  that  feat 

298 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

recently.  .  .  But  I  wanted  to  take  just  one  more 
look  at  that  from  which  I  had  parted— at  that 
bed  where  I  was  planted." 

"  I  hope  that  these  words  do  not  refer  to  me," 
—returned  Arkady,  with  perturbation. — "  I  hope 
that  thou  art  not  thinking  of  parting  from  me/' 

Bazaroff  cast  an  intent,  almost  piercing  glance 
at  him. 

"  Does  that  really  pain  thee  so?  It  strikes  me 
that  thou  hast  already  parted  from  me.    Thou  art 

so  fresh  and  pure thy  affairs  with  Anna 

Sergyeevna  must  be  progressing  well." 

"  What  affairs  of  mine  with  Anna  Sergye- 
evna? " 

"  Why,  didst  not  thou  come  hither  from  the 
town,  my  child?  By  the  way,  how  are  the  Sun- 
day-schools getting  on  there  ?  Art  not  thou  enam- 
oured of  her?  Or  has  the  time  arrived  for  thee  to 
be  discreet? " 

"  Evgeny,  thou  knowest  I  have  always  been 
frank  with  thee ;  I  can  assure  thee,  I  swear  to  thee, 
that  thou  art  in  error." 

"  H'm!  a  new  word,"— commented  Bazaroff. 
— "  But  there  's  no  need  for  thee  to  wax  warm 
over  it,  for  as  thou  seest,  it  is  a  matter  of  perfect 
indifference  to  me.  A  romanticist  would  have 
said:  '  I  feel  that  our  paths  are  beginning  to 
diverge,'  but  I  simply  say  that  we  have  got  dis- 
gusted with  each  other." 

"  Evgeny  1  .  .  ." 

299 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  My  dear  soul,  that 's  no  calamity ;  one  gets 
disgusted  with  plenty  of  things  in  this  world! 
But  now  I  am  thinking  whether  it  is  n't  time  for 
us  to  say  farewell?  Ever  since  I  came  hither  I 
have  felt  most  abominably,  as  though  I  had  been 
reading  too  much  of  Gogol's  letters  to  the  wife  of 
the  Governor  of  Kaluga.  By  the  way,  I  did  not 
order  the  horses  unharnessed." 

"  Upon  my  word,  this  is  impossible!  " 

"But  why?" 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  myself;  but  this  will  be 
in  the  highest  degree  discourteous  to  Anna  Ser- 
gyeevna,  who  is  extremely  anxious  to  see  thee." 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  thou  art  mistaken." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  convinced  that  I  am 
right," — retorted  Arkady. — "  And  why  dost  thou 
dissimulate?  When  it  comes  to  that,  dost  thou 
mean  to  say  that  thou  didst  not  come  hither  on  her 
account  thyself?  " 

"  Perhaps  that  is  correct,  but  thou  art  mistaken, 
nevertheless." 

But  Arkady  was  right.  Anna  Sergyeevna  did 
wish  to  see  Bazaroff,  and  sent  him  an  invitation, 
through  the  butler,  to  come  to  her.  Bazaroff 
changed  his  clothes  before  he  went  to  her:  it 
turned  out  that  he  had  packed  his  new  suit  in  such 
a  way  that  it  was  at  hand. 

Madame  OdintzofF  did  not  receive  him  in  the 
room  where  he  had  so  unexpectedly  made  his  dec- 
laration of  love,  but  in  the  drawing-room.     She 

300 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

graciously  offered  him  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  but 
her  face  expressed  involuntary  constraint. 

**  Anna  Sergyeevna," — Bazaroff  made  haste  to 
say, — **  first  of  all,  I  must  reassure  you.  You  see 
before  you  a  mortal  who  has  long  since  recovered 
his  senses,  and  who  hopes  that  others  also  have 
forgotten  his  folly.  I  am  going  away  for  a  long 
time,  and  you  must  admit  that,  although  I  am  not 
a  soft  person,  yet  it  would  be  far  from  a  cheerful 
thing  for  me  to  carry  away  the  thought  that  you 
remember  me  with  loathing." 

Anna  Sergyeevna  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  like  a 
person  who  has  just  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  lofty 
mountain,  and  her  face  became  enlivened  with  a 
smile.  She  offered  her  hand  to  Bazaroff  for  the 
second  time,  and  reciprocated  his  pressure. 

"  Let  sleeping  dogs  lie," — she  said, — "  the  more 
so  as,  to  speak  candidly,  I  also  sinned  at  that  time 
— if  not  through  coquetry,  by  something  else. 
In  a  word,  let  us  be  friends  as  before.  It  was 
a  dream,  was  it  not?  And  who  remembers 
dreams? " 

"  Who  remembers  them?  And,  moreover,  love 
...  is  an  imaginary  feeling,  you  know." 

"  Really?    I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it." 

Thus  did  Anna  Sergyeevna  express  herself, 
and  thus  did  Bazaroff  express  himself;  they  both 
thought  that  they  were  speaking  the  truth.  Did 
their  words  contain  the  truth,  the  whole  truth? 
They  themselves  did  not  know,  much  less  does  the 

801 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

author.  But  they  entered  upon  the  sort  of  con- 
versation which  seemed  to  indicate  that  they  thor- 
oughly beheved  each  other. 

Anna  Sergyeevna  asked  Bazaroff ,  among  other 
things,  what  he  had  been  doing  at  the  Kirsa- 
nofFs'.  He  came  near  teUing  her  about  his  duel 
with  Pavel  Petrovitch,  but  restrained  himself  at 
the  reflection  that  she  might  imagine  that  he  was 
trying  to  make  himself  interesting,  and  answered 
her  that  he  had  been  working  all  that  time. 

"  And  I,"— said  Anna  Sergyeevna,—"  first 
moped — God  knows  why;  I  even  prepared  to 
go  abroad;  just  fancy!  ....  Then  it  passed  off, 
your  friend  Arkady  Nikolaitch  arrived,  and  I 
fell  back  into  my  rut,  into  my  genuine  role." 

"  Into  what  role,  permit  me  to  inquire?  " 

"  The  role  of  aunt,  preceptress,  mother,  what- 
ever you  please  to  call  it.  By  the  way,  do  you 
know,  that  formerly  I  did  not  quite  understand 
your  intimate  friendship  with  Arkady  Nikola- 
itch!  I  considered  him  decidedly  insignificant. 
But  now  I  have  come  to  know  him  better,  and 
have  convinced  myself  that  he  is  clever.  .  .  And 
the  chief  point,  he  is  young,  young  ....  not 
like  you  and  me,  Evgeny  Vasilitch." 

"  Is  he  still  as  timid  as  ever  in  your  presence?  " 
inquired  Bazaroff. 

"  But  is  it  possible "  began  Anna  Ser- 
gyeevna, and,  after  reflecting  a  little,  she  added : 
— "  Now  he  has  become  more  confiding,  he  talks 

302 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

with  me.  Formerly  he  avoided  me.  However,  I 
did  not  seek  his  society.  He  and  Katya  are 
great  friends." 

Bazaroff  felt  vexed. — "  It  is  impossible  for  a 
woman  not  to  be  crafty!  "—he  thought.  "  You 
say  that  he  avoided  you,"— he  articulated,  with  a 
cold  sneer, — "  but,  probably,  it  was  no  secret  to 
you  that  he  was  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

"  What?  He  too?  "—broke  from  Anna  Ser- 
gyeevna. 

"  He  too,"— repeated  Bazaroff,  with  a  submis- 
sive bow. — "  Is  it  possible  that  you  did  not  know 
it,  and  that  I  have  been  telling  you  news? " 

Anna  Sergyeevna  dropped  her  eyes. — "  You 
are  in  error,  Evgeny  Vasilitch." 

"  I  think  not.  But  perhaps  I  ought  not  to 
allude  to  that. — And  don't  you  be  sly  hence- 
forth," he  added  to  himself. 

**  Why  should  not  you  allude  to  it?  But  I 
think  that  you  are  ascribing  too  much  importance 
to  a  momentary  impression.  I  begin  to  suspect 
that  you  are  inclined  to  exaggeration." 

"  It  is  better  for  us  not  to  talk  about  that,  Anna 
Sergyeevna." 

"  Why?  " — she  retorted,  but  she  herself  turned 
the  conversation  on  another  subject.  Neverthe- 
less, she  felt  awkward  with  Bazaroff,  although 
she  had  told  him,  and  had  assured  herself,  that 
everything  was  forgotten.  As  she  exchanged 
simple  phrases  with  him,  she  felt  the  slight  con- 

803 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

straint  of  terror.  Thus  do  people  on  a  steamer, 
at  sea,  chat  and  laugh,  care-free,  exactly  as 
though  they  were  on  solid  land ;  but  let  the  slight- 
est halt  take  place,  let  the  smallest  sign  of  any- 
thing unusual  present  itself,  and  instantly  there 
starts  forth  upon  all  countenances  an  expression 
of  peculiar  alarm,  which  bears  witness  to  the 
constant  consciousness  of  danger. 

Anna  Sergyeevna's  conversation  with  BazarofF 
did  not  last  long.  She  began  to  grow  thought- 
ful, to  return  abstracted  replies,  and,  at  last,  pro- 
posed to  him  that  they  should  go  into  the  hall, 
where  they  found  the  Princess  and  Katya.  "  But 
where  is  Arkady  Nikolaevitch? " — inquired  the 
hostess;  and  on  learning  that  he  had  not  shown 
himself  for  more  than  an  hour  past,  she  sent  for 
him.  He  was  not  soon  found:  he  had  ensconced 
himself  in  the  very  depths  of  the  garden,  and  with 
his  chin  propped  upon  his  clasped  hands,  he  was 
sitting  absorbed  in  thought.  His  thoughts  were 
profound  and  important,  but  not  sad.  He  knew 
that  Anna  Sergyeevna  was  sitting  alone  with  Ba- 
zaroff,  and  he  felt  no  jealousy,  as  formerly;  on 
the  contrary,  his  face  beamed  gently;  he  seemed 
to  be  surprised  at  something,  and  to  be  rejoicing, 
and  making  up  his  mind  to  something. 


304 


XXVI 

The  deceased  Mr.  Odintzoff  had  not  liked  novel- 
ties, but  he  had  permitted  "  a  certain  play  of  en- 
nobled taste,"  and,  in  consequence  thereof,  he  had 
erected  in  his  garden,  between  the  hot-house  and 
the  pond,  a  building  in  the  nature  of  a  Greek 
portico  of  Russian  brick.  In  the  rear,  blind  wall 
of  this  portico,  or  gallery,  six  niches  had  been  let 
in  for  statues,  which  Odintzoff  had  intended  to 
import  from  Italy.  These  statues  were  intended 
to  represent  Solitude,  Silence,  Meditation,  Mel- 
ancholy, Modesty,  and  Sentiment.  One  of  them, 
the  Goddess  of  Silence,  with  her  finger  on  her 
lips,  had  been  brought  and  set  in  place;  but  that 
very  same  day  the  naughty  little  boys  of  the 
house-serfs  had  broken  off  her  nose,  and  although 
a  neighbouring  plasterer  had  undertaken  to  at- 
tach a  nose  to  her  "  twice  as  good  as  the  former," 
Odintzoff  had  ordered  her  to  be  taken  away,  and 
she  was  placed  in  a  corner  of  the  threshing-shed, 
where  she  stood  for  long  years,  arousing  the  su- 
perstitious fears  of  the  peasant  women.  The 
front  side  of  the  portico  had  long  since  become 
overgrown  with  thick  brushwood;  only  the  cap- 
itals of  the  columns  were  visible  above  the  dense 
verdure.    In  the  portico  itself,  even  at  noonday, 

305 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

it  was  cool.  Anna  Sergyeevna  had  not  been  fond 
of  visiting  this  spot  since  she  had  seen  an  adder 
there,  but  Katya  often  came  to  sit  on  a  big  stone 
bench  which  had  been  constructed  beneath  one 
of  the  niches.  Surrounded  by  coohiess  and  shade, 
she  read,  worked,  or  surrendered  herself  to  that 
sensation  of  complete  tranquillity  which  is  prob- 
ably known  to  every  one,  and  whose  charm  con- 
sists in  a  barely-conscious,  mute  contemplation  of 
the  broad  stream  of  life,  which  incessantly  rolls 
both  around  us  and  in  us. 

On  the  day  following  Bazaroff 's  arrival,  Katya 
was  sitting  on  her  favourite  bench,  and  beside  her 
again  sat  Arkady.  He  had  begged  her  to  come 
with  him  to  the  "  portico." 

About  an  hour  remained  before  breakfast-time ; 
the  dewy  morning  had  already  changed  into  a 
hot  day.  Arkady's  countenance  preserved  its  ex- 
pression of  the  day  before ;  Katya  wore  a  troubled 
aspect.  Her  sister,  immediately  after  tea,  had 
called  her  to  her  in  her  boudoir,  and  having  first 
caressed  her,  which  always  rather  terrified  Katya, 
she  had  advised  her  to  be  cautious  in  her  behaviour 
toward  Arkady,  and,  in  particular,  to  shun  soli- 
tary conversations  with  him,  which,  it  seemed,  had 
been  commented  upon  by  her  aunt,  and  by  all  the 
household.  In  addition  to  this,  on  the  previous 
evening,  Anna  Sergyeevna  had  been  out  of  sorts ; 
and  Katya  herself  had  felt  agitated,  as  though 
she  recognised  that  she  had  done  wrong.  In  yield- 

806 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

ing  to  Arkady's  plea,  she  had  told  herself  that  it 
was  for  the  last  time. 

"  Katerina  Sergyeevna,"--he  began,  with  a 
certain  bashful  ease, — "  since  I  have  had  the  hap- 
piness of  living  in  your  house,  I  have  talked  over 

many  things  with  you,  and  yet  there  is  one 

question  ....  which  is  very  important  for  me 
that  I  have  not  yet  touched  upon.  You  remarked 
yesterday  that  I  have  been  made  over  here," — he 
added,  both  seeking  and  avoiding  Katya's  gaze, 
fixed  questioningly  upon  him.—"  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  have  undergone  a  change  in  many  respects, 
and  you  know  that  better  than  any  one  else,— 
you,  to  whom,  in  reality,  I  am  indebted  for  this 
change." 

"I?  .  .  .  Tome?  .  .  .  ."saidKatya. 

"  Now  I  am  no  longer  that  arrogant  boy  that 
I  was  when  I  came  hither," — pursued  Arkady; 
— "  not  in  vain  have  I  passed  my  twenty-third 
year;  as  before,  I  desire  to  be  of  use,  I  desire 
to  consecrate  all  my  powers  to  the  truth;  but  I 
no  longer  seek  my  ideals  where  I  formerly 
sought  them;  they  present  themselves  to  me 
.  .  .  much  closer  at  hand.  Hitherto,  I  have 
not    understood    myself;    I    have    set    myself 

tasks  that  were  beyond  my  strength My 

eyes  have  recently  been  opened,  thanks  to  a 
certain  feeling.  ...  I  do  not  express  my- 
self quite  clearly,  but  I  hope  you  understand 
me " 

307 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Katya  made  no  reply,  but  ceased  to  look  at 
Arkady. 

"  I  assume,"— he  went  on  again,  in  a  more  agi- 
tated voice,  and  a  chaffinch  above  his  head,  in  the 
foliage  of  a  birch-tree,  unconcernedly  carolled  his 
song, — "  I  assume  that  it  is  the  duty  of  every 
honest  man  to  be  perfectly  frank  with  those  .... 
those  persons  who  ....  in  a  word,  with  the  per- 
sons who  are  near  to  his  heart,  and,  therefore,  I 
....  I  intend  .  .  .  ." 

But  here  Arkady's  eloquence  failed  him;  he 
became  confused,  stammered,  and  was  forced  to 
pause  for  a  while;  still  Katya  did  not  raise  her 
eyes.  Apparently,  she  did  not  understand  what 
all  this  was  leading  up  to,  and  was  waiting  for 
something. 

"  I  foresee  that  I  shall  surprise  you,**— began 
Arkady,  collecting  his  forces  afresh, — "  the  more 
so  as  this  feeling  relates,  in  a  certain  way  .  .  . 
in  a  certain  way,  observe, — to  you.  I  remember 
that  you  reproached  me  yesterday  with  a  lack  of 
seriousness," — went  on  Arkady,  with  the  aspect 
of  a  man  who  has  walked  into  a  morass,  feels  that 
with  every  step  he  is  sinking  deeper  and  deeper, 
and,  nevertheless,  strides  onward,  in  the  hope  of 
traversing  it  as  speedily  as  possible: — "that  re- 
proach is  often  directed  ....  falls  ...  on 
young  people,  even  when  they  have  ceased  to 

merit  it ;  and  if  I  had  more  self-confidence " 

("  Come,  help  me,  help  me!  "  thought  Arkady,  in 

308 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

despair,  but  Katya,  as  before,  did  not  turn  her 
head.) -"If  I  could  hope  .  .  .  ." 

"  If  I  could  feel  convinced  of  what  you  say," — 
rang  out  Anna  Sergyeevna's  clear  voice  at  that 
moment. 

Arkady  instantly  became  dumb,  and  Katya 
turned  pale.  A  path  ran  past  the  bushes  which 
screened  the  portico.  Anna  Sergy^evna  was 
walking  along  it,  in  company  with  Bazaroff. 
Katya  and  Arkady  could  not  see  them,  but  they 
heard  every  word,  the  rustling  of  her  gown,  her 
very  breath.  They  advanced  a  few  paces  and 
halted,  as  though  with  deliberate  intent,  directly 
in  front  of  the  portico. 

"  You  see,"— pursued  Anna  Sergyeevna, — 
"  you  and  I  have  made  a  mistake ;  neither  of  us  is 
in  his  first  youth,  especially  I ;  we  have  lived,  we 
are  weary;  why  should  we  both  stand  on  cere- 
mony?— we  are  clever:  at  first,  we  interested  each 

other,  our  curiosity  was  aroused and 

then " 

"  And  then  I  grew  insipid," — put  in  Bazaroff. 

"  You  know  that  that  was  not  the  cause  of  our 
falling  out.  But,  at  any  rate,  we  did  not  need 
each  other;  that  is  the  principal  point:  there  was 
too  much  in  us  that  was  ....  how  shall  I  ex- 
press it?  .  .  .  identical.  We  did  not  comprehend 
that  at  first.    On  the  contrary,  Arkady  .  .  .  ." 

"  Do  you  need  him?  " — inquired  Bazaroff. 

"  That  will  do,  Evgeny  Vasilievitch.  You  say 
809 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

that  he  is  not  indifferent  to  me,  and  it  always  has 
seemed  to  me  that  he  liked  me.  I  know  that  I  am 
fit  to  be  his  aunt,  but  I  will  not  conceal  from  you 
that  I  have  begun  to  think  more  frequently  of 
him.  There  is  a  certain  charm  in  that  young, 
fresh  feeling " 

"  The  word  fascination  is  more  used  in  such 
cases," — interposed  BazarofF;  seething  bitterness 
was  audible  in  his  calm,  but  dull  voice. — "  Arkady 
seemed  to  be  mysterious  with  me  yesterday ;  he  did 
not  mention  either  you  or  your  sister.  .  .  That 
is  an  important  symptom." 

"  He  is  exactly  like  a  brother  with  Katya,"— 
said  Anna  Sergyeevna,— "  and  I  Hke  that  in  him, 
although  possibly  I  ought  not  to  allow  such  in- 
timacy between  them." 

"  Is  that  the  ....  sister  .  .  .  speaking  in 
you?  " — articulated  Bazaroff  slowly. 

"  Of  course ;  .  .  .  .  but  why  are  we  standing 
here?  Let  us  go  on.  What  a  strange  conversa- 
tion between  us,  is  it  not?  And  could  I  have  an- 
ticipated that  I  should  talk  thus  with  you?  You 
know  that  I  am  afraid  of  you,  ....  and,  at  the 
same  time,  I  trust  you  because,  in  reality,  you  are 
very  kind." 

*'  In  the  first  place,  I  am  not  kind  in  the  least; 
and,  in  the  second  place,  I  have  lost  all  signifi- 
cance for  you,  and  you  tell  me  that  I  am  kind. 

That  is  exactly  the  same  as  placing  a 

wreath  of  flowers  on  the  head  of  a  corpse." 

310 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Evgeny  Vasilitch,  we  cannot  control  .  .  .  ." 
began  Anna  Sergyeevna;  but  a  breeze  swept  by, 
rustled  the  leaves,  and  carried  away  her  words. 

"  Assuredly,  you  are  free," — enunciated  Baza- 
roff,  after  a  brief  pause.  It  was  impossible  to 
make  out  any  more ;  the  footsteps  died  away  .  .  . 
all  became  silent. 

Arkady  turned  to  Katya.  She  was  sitting  in 
the  same  attitude,  only  she  had  bowed  her  head 
still  lower  than  before. 

"  Katerina  Sergyeevna," — he  said,  with  a  trem- 
bling voice,  and  with  tightly  clasped  hands:—"  I 
love  you  forever  and  irrevocably,  and  I  love  no 
one  but  you.  I  wanted  to  say  this,  to  learn  your 
opinion  and  to  ask  your  hand,  because  I  am  not 
rich,  and  I  feel  that  I  am  prepared  for  all  sacri- 
fices. .  .  You  do  not  answer?  You  do  not  beheve 
me?  You  think  that  I  am  speaking  idly?  But 
remember  these  last  few  days !  Is  it  possible  that 
you  have  not  long  ago  convinced  yourself,  every- 
thing else — understand  me — everything,  every- 
thing else  long  ago  vanished  without  a  trace? 
Look  at  me,  say  one  word  to  me.  .  I  love  .... 
I  love  you  .  .  .  beheve  me!" 

Katya  looked  at  Arkady  with  a  solemn,  beam- 
ing gaze,  and  after  long  meditation,  hardly  smil- 
ing, she  said:—"  Yes." 

Arkady  sprang  from  the  bench. — "  Yes !  You 
said  '  yes,'  Katerina  Sergyeevna!  What  does  that 
word  mean?    Does  it  mean  '  I  love  you,'  or  that 

811 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

you  believe  me?  .  .  .  Or  ....  or  ....  I  dare 
not  finish  .  .  .  ." 

"  Yes," — repeated  Katya,  and  this  time  he  un- 
derstood her.  He  seized  her  large,  beautiful 
hands,  and  panting  with  rapture,  pressed  them  to 
his  heart.  He  could  hardly  stand  on  his  feet,  and 
merely  kept  repeating:  "  Katya,  Katya  .  .  .  ." 
and  she  fell  to  weeping,  in  an  innocent  sort  of 
way,  laughing  gently  at  her  own  tears.  He  who 
has  not  beheld  such  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  beloved 
being  has  not  yet  experienced  to  what  a  degree, 
all  swooning  with  gratitude  and  with  shame,  a 
man  can  be  happy  on  this  earth. 

On  the  following  day,  early  in  the  morning, 
Anna  Sergyeevna  ordered  BazaroiF  to  be  sum- 
moned to  her  boudoir,  and,  with  a  forced  laugh, 
she  handed  him  a  folded  sheet  of  note-paper.  It 
was  a  letter  from  Arkady :  in  it  he  asked  the  hand 
of  her  sister. 

Bazaroff  swiftly  glanced  over  the  letter,  and 
exerted  an  effort  over  himself  not  to  display  the 
impetuous  feeling  which  instantly  flamed  up  in 
his  soul. 

"  So  that 's  how  it  is,"— he  said; — "  and  you,  I 
believe,  no  longer  ago  than  yesterday,  supposed 
that  he  loved  Katerina  Sergyeevna  with  the  love 
of  a  brother.    What  do  you  mean  to  do  now?  " 

"  What  do  you  advise  me  to  do?  "—asked  Anna 
Sergyeevna,  continuing  to  laugh. 

"  Why,  I  think,"— replied  Bazaroff,  also  with 
312 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

a  laugh,  although  he  did  not  feel  at  all  merry,  and 
did  not,  in  the  least,  wish  to  laugh,  any  more  than 
she  did: — "  I  think  you  will  have  to  give  the 
young  people  your  blessing.  It  is  a  fine  match,  in 
every  respect;  KirsanofF  has  a  respectable  prop- 
erty, he  is  his  father's  only  son,  and  the  father  is 
a  fine  fellow  also,  I  will  not  deny  it." 

Madame  OdintzofF  paced  the  room.  Her  face 
flushed  and  paled  by  turns. 

"  You  think  so?  "-she  said.  "  Why  not?  I 
see  no  obstacle.  ...  I  am  glad  for  Katya  .  .  . 
and  for  Arkady  Nikolaevitch.  Of  course  I  shall 
await  his  father's  reply.  I  will  send  him  himself 
to  him.  But,  you  see,  it  turns  out  that  I  was  right 
yesterday  when  I  told  you  that  we  were  both  old 
folks.  .  .  .  How  is  it  that  I  did  not  see  this?  It 
amazes  me! " 

Again  Anna  Sergyeevna  began  to  laugh,  and 
immediately  turned  away. 

"  The  young  people  of  the  present  day  have  be- 
come very  sly," — remarked  Bazaroif,  and  began 
to  laugh  also.—"  Good-bye,"— he  said  again, 
after  a  brief  pause. — "  I  hope  you  will  finish  this 
affair  in  the  most  agreeable  manner;  and  I  shall 
rejoice  from  afar." 

Madame  OdmtzoiF  turned  swiftly  toward  him. 

"  You  are  not  going  away?  Why  should  you 
not  remain  now?  Remain  ....  it  is  jolly  to 
talk  with  you  ....  just  like  walking  on  the 
brink  of  a  precipice:  at  first  one  feels  timid,  but 

313 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

afterward  one  gets  courage  from  somewhere  or 
other.    Remain." 

"  Thanks  for  your  suggestion,  Anna  Sergye- 
evna,  and  for  your  flattering  opinion  of  my  con- 
versational talents.  But  I  think  that  I  have  been 
already  revolving  too  long  as  it  is,  in  a  sphere 
which  is  foreign  to  me.  Flying  fish  are  able  to 
maintain  themselves  for  quite  a  while  in  the  air, 
but  they  are  bound  soon  to  splash  back  into  the 
water;  permit  me  also  to  paddle  in  my  own  ele- 
ment." 

Madame  Odintzoff  looked  at  Bazaroff .  A  bit- 
ter sneer  contorted  his  pale  face.  "  That  man 
loved  me! "  she  thought— and  she  felt  sorry  for 
him,  and  off'ered  him  her  hand  with  sympathy. 

But  he  understood  her. — "  No!  "—he  said,  and 
retreated  a  pace. — "  I  am  a  poor  man,  but  up  to 
this  time  I  have  not  accepted  alms.  Farewell, 
madame,  and  may  good  health  be  yours." 

"  I  am  convinced  that  this  is  not  our  last  meet- 
ing,"— articulated  Anna  Sergyeevna,  with  an  in- 
voluntary movement. 

"  All  sorts  of  things  happen  in  this  world!  "— 
replied  BazaroiF,  bowed,  and  left  the  room. 

"So  thou  hast  taken  it  into  thy  head  to  build  a 
nest? " — he  said  that  same  day  to  Arkady,  as, 
squatting  on  his  heels,  he  packed  his  trunk. — 
"  Why  not?  It  is  a  good  move.  I  expected  a 
wholly  different  direction  from  thee.  Or,  per- 
chance, this  has  stunned  thee  thyself? " 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  I  really  did  not  expect  it  when  I  parted  from 
thee," — replied  Arkady.  "  But  why  dost  thou 
thyself  quibble  and  say:  *  It  is  a  good  move,'  as 
though  I  were  not  aware  of  thine  opinion  as  to 
matrimony?  '* 

"  Ekh,  my  dear  friend,"— said  Bazaroff : — 
"  what  a  way  thou  hast  of  expressing  thyself ! 
Thou  seest  what  I  am  doing:  there  turns  out  to 
be  an  empty  space  in  my  trunk,  and  I  stuff  in  hay ; 
so  it  is  with  our  trunk  of  life ;  it  must  be  filled  with 
anything  that  comes  to  hand,  so  that  there  may  be 
no  empty  space.  Please  do  not  take  offence :  thou 
probably  recallest  what  opinion  I  have  always 
held  of  Katerina  Sergyeevna.  Some  young  ladies 
bear  the  reputation  of  being  clever  because  they 
sigh  cleverly ;  but  thy  young  lady  can  stand  up  for 
herself,  and  stand  up  in  such  wise,  to  boot,  that 
she  will  manage  thee, — well,  and  that  is  as  it 
should  be." 

He  banged  down  the  hd  and  rose  from  the  floor. 
— "  And  now  I  repeat  to  thee  in  farewell  because 
there  is  no  use  in  deceiving  ourselves :  we  are  part- 
ing forever,  and  thou  feelest  that  thyself  .  .  . 
thou  hast  acted  wisely ;  thou  wert  not  created  for 
our  bitter,  harsh,  wretched  life.  There  is  in  thee 
neither  insolence  nor  malice,  but  there  is  youth- 
ful audacity  and  youthful  arrogance ;  that  is  not 
suited  to  our  cause.  A  man  of  your  sort,  a  noble- 
man, cannot  go  any  further  than  noble  submission 
or  noble  effervescence,  and  that  is  stuff  and  non- 
315 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

sense.  You,  for  example,  do  not  fight, — and  yet 
you  imagine  that  you  are  a  dashing  fellow, — while 
we  want  to  fight.  And  what  is  the  state  of  the 
case?  Our  dust  eats  thine  eyes  out,  our  mud  be- 
spatters thee,  but  thou  hast  not  grown  up  to  our 
stature ;  thou  involuntarily  admirest  thyself ;  it  is 
pleasant  for  thee  to  scold  thyself ;  but  we  find  that 
tiresome^ serve  us  up  others!  we  must  break 
others!  Thou  art  a  splendid  young  fellow;  but, 
nevertheless,  thou  art  a  soft,  liberal  young  gentle- 
man,— et  voldtoutj  as  my  parent  expresses  him- 
self." 

"  Thou  art  bidding  me  an  eternal  farewell, 
Evgeny?  " — said  Arkady  sadly.  "  And  hast 
thou  no  other  words  for  me?  " 

BazarofF  scratched  the  nape  of  his  neck. — "  I 
have,  Arkady,  I  have  other  words,  only  I  shall  not 
utter  them,  because  that  is  romanticism, — that 
means:  making  one's  self  too — sypuppy.  But  do 
thou  marry  as  promptly  as  possible,  and  estab- 
lish thy  nest,  and  beget  as  many  children  as  thou 
canst.  They  will  be  clever  creatures,  simply  be- 
cause they  will  be  born  in  a  different  age  from 
what  thou  and  I  were.  Ehe !  I  see  that  the  horses 
are  ready.  It  is  time  to  go!  I  have  said  good- 
bye to  everybody Well,  how  now?  shall 

we  embrace? " 

Arkady  flung  himself  on  the  neck  of  his  former 
preceptor  and  friend,  and  the  tears  fairly 
streamed  from  his  eyes. 

316 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  That 's  what  it  is  to  be  young!  "—ejaculated 
BazaroiF  cahnly.— "  But  I  place  my  hopes  on 
Katerina  Sergyeevna.  Just  see  how  quickly  she 
will  comfort  thee  I  " 

"Farewell,  brother!"— he  said  to  Arkady, 
when  he  had  clambered  into  the  peasant  cart ;  and 
pointing  to  a  pair  of  jackdaws,  which  were  sitting 
on  the  roof  of  the  stable,  he  added: — "  Look  yon- 
der!—study  them! " 

"  What  does  that  mean?  "—asked  Arkady. 

'*  What?  Art  thou  so  weak  in  natural  history, 
or  hast  thou  forgotten,  that  the  daw  is  the  most 
respectable,  domestic  of  birds?  An  example  for 
thee ! — Good-bye,  senor ! ' ' 

The  cart  rattled  and  rolled  away. 

Bazaroff  had  spoken  the  truth.  As  he  chatted 
with  Katya  that  evening  he  had  totally  forgotten 
his  tutor.  He  had  already  begun  to  come  under 
her  sway,  and  Katya  was  conscious  of  it,  and  was 
not  surprised.  He  was  obliged  to  go  to  Marino, 
to  Nikolai  Petrovitch,  on  the  following  day. 
Anna  Sergyeevna  did  not  wish  to  embarrass  the 
young  people,  and  only  out  of  decorum  did  not 
leave  them  too  long  alone  together.  She  mag- 
nanimously banished  from  them  the  Princess,  who 
had  been  reduced  to  a  state  of  tearful  wrath  by 
the  news  of  the  impending  marriage.  At  first 
Anna  Sergyeevna  feared  lest  the  spectacle  of 
their  happiness  should  seem  somewhat  oppressive 
to  her;  but  it  turned  out  to  be  exactly  the  reverse: 

317 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

that  spectacle  not  only  did  not  oppress  her,  it  in- 
terested her,  it  touched  her  at  last.  Anna 
Sergyeevna  was  delighted  yet  saddened  by  this. 
"Evidently,  BazarofF  is  right,"— she  thought: 
"  curiosity,  mere  curiosity,  and  love  of  a  quiet 
Hfe,  and  egotism " 

"  Children,"— she  said  aloud,—"  is  love  an  im- 
aginary feeling? " 

But  neither  Katya  nor  Arkady  even  understood 
her.  They  shunned  her;  they  could  not  get  the 
conversation  which  they  had  involuntarily  over- 
heard out  of  their  minds.  However,  Anna 
Sergyeevna  speedily  reassured  them;  and  that 
was  not  difficult :  she  had  reassured  herself. 


318 


XXVII 

The  old  Bazaroffs  were  all  the  more  delighted 
at  their  son's  unexpected  return,  in  proportion  as 
they  had  the  least  expected  it.  Arina  Vlasievna 
was  perturbed  to  such  a  degree,  and  so  exhausted 
herself  by  running  all  over  the  house,  that  Vasily 
Ivanitch  compared  her  to  a  "  mother  partridge  " : 
the  bobtail  of  her  short,  loose,  morning  gown 
really  did  give  her  a  somewhat  bird-like  air.  And 
he  himself  merely  bellowed  and  bit  the  amber 
mouthpiece  of  his  tchubiik  sideways,  and  grasp- 
ing his  neck  with  his  hands,  twisted  his  head,  as 
though  he  were  trying  to  find  out  whether  it  were 
well  screwed  on,  then  suddenly  opened  his  wide 
mouth  to  its  full  extent,  and  laughed  heartily 
but  absolutely  without  sound. 

"  I  have  come  to  you  for  six  whole  weeks,  old 
man," — Bazaroff  said  to  him: — "  I  want  to  work, 
so  please  don't  bother  me." 

*'  Thou  wilt  forget  my  physiognomy,  that 's  the 
way  I  shall  bother  thee!" — replied  Vasily  Iva- 
novitch." 

He  kept  his  promise.  Having  installed  his  son, 
as  before,  in  his  study,  he  devoted  himself  to  hid- 
ing from  him,  and  restrained  his  wife  from  all 

319 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

superfluous  manifestations  of  tenderness.  "  My 
dear  woman,"— he  said  to  her,  "  during  Eni- 
lishka's  first  visit  we  bored  him  a  bit ;  now  we  must 
be  more  sensible."  Arina  Vlasievna  agreed  with 
her  husband,  but  gained  Httle  by  so  doing,  because 
she  saw  her  son  only  at  meals,  and  became  defini- 
tively afraid  to  speak  to  him.  *'  Eniiishenka!  " — 
she  would  say  to  him, — and  before  he  could  glance 
round  she  would  be  tugging  at  the  cords  of  her 
reticule,  and  stammering:  "Never  mind,  never 
mind,  I  did  n't  mean  anything,"  and  then  she 
would  betake  herself  to  Vasily  Ivanovitch  and  say 
to  him,  propping  her  cheek  on  her  hand:  "  I 
should  like  to  find  out,  my  darling,  what  Eniiisha 
wants  to-day  for  dinner,  cabbage-soup  or  beet- 
soup?  " 

"  But  why  dost  not  thou  ask  him  thyself?  " — 
"But  I  shall  bore  him!"  However,  BazarofF 
soon  ceased  to  lock  himself  up :  the  fever  of  work 
leaped  away  from  him,  and  was  replaced  by  de- 
jected boredom  and  dull  disquiet.  A  strange  lan- 
guor was  perceptible  in  all  his  movements;  even 
his  walk,  firm  and  impetuously  bold,  underwent 
a  change.  He  ceased  to  take  solitary  strolls  and 
began  to  seek  society;  he  drank  tea  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, prowled  about  the  vegetable-garden 
with  Vasily  Ivanovitch,  and  smoked  with  him 
"  dumb  as  a  fish."  One  day  he  inquired  of  his 
father  concerning  Father  Alexyei.  At  first, 
Vasfly  Ivanovitch  rejoiced  at  this  change,  but  his 

320 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

joy  was  not  of  long  duration.  "  Eniiisha  dis- 
tresses me,"  he  complained  quietly  to  his  wife; 
"he  is  not  exactly  dissatisfied  or  angry,  that 
would  not  matter;  he  is  embittered,  he  is  melan- 
choly,— that  is  the  terrible  thing.  He  persist- 
ently maintains  silence,  as  though  he  were  re- 
proaching thee  and  me;  he  is  getting  thin,  his 
complexion  has  a  bad  colour." — "  O  Lord,  O 
Lord!  "  whispered  the  old  woman;  "  I  would  like 
to  put  an  amulet  on  his  neck,  but  of  course 
he  would  not  let  me."  Vasily  Ivanovitch 
himself  made  several  attempts  to  question  Baza- 
rofF  about  his  work,  about  his  health,  about  Ar- 
kady  But  BazarofF  answered  him  unwill- 
ingly and  carelessly,  and  one  day,  noticing  that 
his  father,  in  conversation,  was  making  stealthy 
approaches  toward  something,  he  said  to  him 
with  vexation:  "  Why  art  thou  constantly,  as  it 
were,  walking  round  me  on  tiptoe?  That  manner 
is  worse  than  thy  former  one! " 

"  Well,  well,  well,  I  did  n't  mean  anjrthing!  " 
hastily  replied  poor  Vasfly  Ivanovitch.  His  polit- 
ical hints  remained  equally  fruitless.  In  begin- 
ning, one  day,  a  conversation  in  connection  with 
the  impending  emancipation  of  the  serfs,  about 
progress,  he  hoped  to  arouse  the  sympathy  of  his 
son ;  but  the  latter  said  indifferently :  "  Yester- 
day, as  I  was  walking  past  a  hedge,  I  heard  the 
little  peasant  boys  of  this  locality  shouting,  in 
place  of  some  ancient  ballad :    '  The  loyal  time 

321 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

is  comings  the  heart  feeleth  love  '—there  's  prog- 
ress for  thee." 

Sometimes  BazarofF  betook  himself  to  the  vil- 
lage, and,  banteringly,  as  was  his  wont,  entered 
into  conversation  with  some  peasant  man  or  other. 
"  Come,"  he  said  to  him,  "  expound  to  me  your 
views  of  life,  brother ;  for  in  you,  they  say,  lies  the 
whole  force  and  future  of  Russia,  with  you  a  new 
epoch  in  history  will  begin,— you  will  give  us  both 
a  genuine  language  and  laws."  The  peasant 
either  made  no  reply  or  uttered  some  words  to  the 
following  effect :"  And  we  can  .  .  .  too,  because, 
you  know  ....  what  limits  are  appointed  to 
us,  for  example." 

"  Do  thou  just  explain  to  me  what  thy  world 
is,"— Bazaroff  interrupted  him.  "  And  is  it  that 
same  world  which  stands  on  three  fishes?  " 

"  The  earth  does  stand  on  three  fishes,"— 
explained  the  serf  soothingly,  in  a  patriarch- 
ally-good-humoured  singsong, — "  but  against  our 
commune  ^  there  is,  as  every  one  knows,  the  will 
of  the  master;  because  you  are  our  fathers.  And 
the  more  strict  is  the  lord  of  the  manor  in  his 
demands,  the  pleasanter  it  is  for  the  peasant." 

One  day,  after  listening  to  a  speech  of  this  sort, 
Bazaroff  shrugged  his  shoulders  scornfully  and 
turned  aside,  and  the  peasant  went  his  way. 

"  What  wert  thou  talking  about?  "—another 
peasant  asked  him— a  middle-aged  man,  with  a 

1  Mivt  world;  Mir,  commune. — Tbaitslatob. 

322 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

surly  countenance,  from  the  threshold  of  his  cot- 
tage, who  had  witnessed  from  afar  this  conver- 
sation with  Bazaroff. — "  About  the  arrears  of 
taxes?  " 

"  About  the  arrears  of  taxes,  forsooth,  my  good 
fellow!" — replied  the  first  peasant,  and  in  his 
voice  there  was  no  longer  a  trace  of  the  patriarchal 
singsong,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  certain  careless 
moroseness  was  audible. — "  We  just  chattered  a 
bit;  his  tongue  was  itching  to  talk.  Everybody 
knows  how  it  is — he  's  a  gentleman;  can  he  under- 
stand anything? " 

"How  should  he  understand!" — replied  the 
other  peasant,  and  shaking  their  caps  and  tucking 
in  their  belts,  the  two  set  to  discussing  their  own 
affairs  and  needs.  Alas!  Bazaroff,  who  had 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  knew  how  to  talk  to 
the  peasants  (as  he  had  boasted,  in  the  course  of 
his  quarrel  with  Pavel  Petrovitch) ,  that  self-con- 
fident Bazaroff  did  not  even  suspect  that  he  was, 
in  their  eyes,  something  in  the  nature  of  a  born 
fool.  .  .  . 

However,  at  last  he  found  an  occupation  for 
himself.  One  day,  in  his  presence,  Vasily  Iva- 
nitch  was  binding  up  a  peasant's  injured  leg,  but 
the  old  man's  hands  trembled  and  he  could  not 
manage  the  bandages;  his  son  helped,  and  from 
that  time  forth  he  began  to  take  part  in  his  prac- 
tice, without  ceasing,  at  the  same  time,  to  jeer, 
both  at  the  remedies  which  he  himself  had  recom- 

323 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

mended,  and  at  his  father,  who  immediately  made 
use  of  them.  But  BazaroiF's  sneers  did  not  in 
the  least  discomfit  Vasily  Ivanovitch;  rather  did 
they  comfort  him.  Clasping  his  soiled  dressing- 
gown  to  his  belly  with  two  fingers,  and  smoking 
his  pipe,  he  listened  with  delight  to  Bazaroff ,  and 
the  more  ill-temper  there  was  in  his  sallies,  the 
more  good-naturedly  did  his  enraptured  father 
laugh,  displaying  all  his  black  teeth,  to  the  very 
last  one.  He  even  frequently  repeated  these  stu- 
pid or  senseless  sallies,  and,  for  example,  for  a 
space  of  several  days  he  would  keep  repeating, 
without  rhyme  or  reason:  "  Well,  that 's  of  no 
consequence!  "  ^  simply  because  his  son,  on  learn- 
ing that  he  was  accustomed  to  go  to  Matins,  had 
employed  that  expression.—"  Thank  God!  he  has 
ceased  to  have  the  blue  devils !  "  he  whispered  to 
his  wife;  "  the  way  he  snubbed  me  to-day,— it  was 
wonderful !  "  On  the  other  hand,  the  thought  that 
he  possessed  such  an  assistant  inspired  him  with 
enthusiasm,  filled  him  with  pride.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he 
said  to  a  peasant  woman,  in  a  man's  coat,  and  a 
head-dress  like  a  pointed  coronet,  with  horns,  as 
he  handed  her  a  phial  of  Gulyard  water,  or  a  pot 
of  white  ointment,  "  my  good  soul,  thou  shouldst 
thank  God  every  minute  that  my  son  is  visiting 
me:  thou  art  being  doctored  now  after  the  most 
scientific  and  the  newest  method,  dost  thou  under- 

1  In  Russian  rather  slangily  expressed:  "That 's  the  ninth 
affair! " — Translator. 

324 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

stand  that?  Even  the  Emperor  of  the  French, 
Napoleon,  has  no  better  doctor."  And  the  woman 
who  had  come  to  complain  that  she  "  had  got  the 
gripes  "  (but  she  was  not  herself  able  to  explain 
what  she  meant  by  these  words)  merely  made  a 
reverence,  and  thrust  her  hand  into  her  bosom, 
where  lay  four  eggs  wrapped  up  in  the  end  of  a 
towel. 

Bazaroff  once  even  extracted  a  tooth  for  a  pass- 
ing pedlar  of  dress  goods,  and  although  that 
tooth  was  of  the  most  ordinary  sort,  nevertheless 
Vasily  Ivanovitch  preserved  it  as  a  rarity,  and  ex- 
hibited it  to  Father  Alexyei,  repeating  inces- 
santly : 

"Just  look,  what  roots!  Such  strength  as 
Evgeny  has!  He  fairly  lifted  that  dry-goods 
pedlar  into  the  air.  .  .  It  seems  to  me  that  even 
an  oak-tree  would  have  flown  out!  .  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  laudable!  " — said  Father  Alexyei  at  last, 
not  knowing  what  reply  to  make,  and  how  to  rid 
himself  of  the  old  man,  who  had  gone  into  ec- 
stasies. 

One  day  a  wretched  peasant  from  a  neighbour- 
ing village  brought  to  Vasfly  Ivanovitch  his  bro- 
ther, who  was  ill  with  typhus  fever.  Lying  prone 
upon  a  truss  of  straw,  the  unfortunate  man  was 
dying;  dark  spots  covered  his  body;  he  had  even 
lost  consciousness.  Vasfly  Ivanovitch  expressed 
his  regret  that  it  had  not  occurred  to  some  one  ear- 
lier to  have  recourse  to  the  aid  of  medicine,  and 

825 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

announced  that  there  was  no  hope.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  peasant  did  not  get  his  brother  home 
ahve ;  the  man  died  in  the  cart. 

Three  days  later  BazarofF  entered  his  father's 
room,  and  inquired  whether  he  had  not  lunar 
caustic? 

"  I  have;  what  dost  thou  need  it  for?  " 

"  I  need  it  ...  to  cauterise  a  wound." 

"Whose?" 

"  My  own." 

"  What,  thine  own  I  Why  ?  What  wound  is  it  ? 
Where  is  it?" 

"  Here  on  my  finger.  To-day  I  went  to  the  vil- 
lage, thou  knowest,  the  one  whence  they  brought 
that  peasant  with  the  typhus.  For  some  reason, 
they  were  preparing  to  open  him,  and  I  had  had 
no  practice  in  that  for  a  long  time." 

"  Well?  " 

"  Well,  and  so  I  asked  leave  of  the  district 
physician,  and  cut  myself." 

Vasily  Ivanovitch  turned  pale  all  over,  and 
without  uttering  a  word,  he  flew  to  his  cupboard, 
whence  he  immediately  returned  with  a  piece  of 
lunar  caustic  in  his  hand.  BazarofF  was  about  to 
take  it  and  depart. 

"  For  God's  sake,"— said  Vasily  Ivanovitch:— 
"  let  me  do  it  myself." 

Bazaroff  grinned.—"  How  anxious  thou  art 
for  practice! " 

"  Don't  jest,  please.  Show  me  thy  finger.  The 
wound  is  not  large.    Does  n't  it  hurt? " 

326 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Press  on  harder,  don't  be  afraid." 

Vasily  Ivanovitch  paused. — "  What  dost  thou 
think,  Evgeny,  would  n't  it  be  better  for  us  to  cau- 
terise it  with  a  hot  iron?  " 

"  That  ought  to  have  been  done  sooner,  but 
now,  in  reality,  even  the  lunar  caustic  is  of  no  use. 
If  I  have  been  infected,  it  is  too  late  anyway." 

"  How  .....  too     late? "      Vasfly 

Ivanovitch  could  hardly  articulate. 

"I  should  think  so!  More  than  four  hours 
have  elapsed  since  then." 

Vasily  Ivanovitch  cauterised  the  wound  a  little 
longer. — "  And  had  not  the  district  doctor  any 
lunar  caustic? " 

"  No." 

"  How  came  that,  my  God!  A  physician— and 
he  has  not  such  an  indispensable  thing!  " 

"  Thou  shouldst  see  his  lancets," — said  Baza- 
roff,  and  left  the  room. 

Until  evening,  and  during  the  whole  course  of 
the  following  day,  Vasfly  Ivanovitch  caught  at 
every  possible  pretext  to  enter  his  son's  room,  and, 
although  he  not  only  did  not  mention  his  wound, 
but  even  endeavoured  to  talk  about  the  most  irrel- 
evant subjects,  still  he  peered  so  persistently  into 
his  eyes  and  watched  him  in  so  perturbed  a  man- 
ner, that  Bazaroff  lost  patience,  and  threatened 
to  leave  the  house.  Vasfly  Ivanovitch  gave  him  his 
word  not  to  worry,  the  more  so,  as  Arina  Vlasi- 
evna,  from  whom,  of  course,  he  had  concealed 
everything,  was  beginning  to  besiege  him  with 

327 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

questions  as  to  why  he  did  not  sleep,  and  what  had 
happened  to  him?  For  two  whole  days  he  perse- 
vered, although  he  did  not  greatly  hke  the  looks 
of  his  son,  whom  he  still  watched  by  stealth,  .... 
but  on  the  third  day  at  dinner  he  could  endure  it 
no  longer.  Bazaroif  sat  with  bowed  head,  and  did 
not  touch  a  single  viand. 

"  Why  dost  thou  not  eat,  Evgeny?  "—he 
asked,  imparting  to  his  face  the  most  care-free  of 
expressions.—"  The  food  is  well  cooked,  I  think." 

"  I  don't  feel  like  it,  so  I  don't  eat." 

"  Hast  thou  no  appetite?  And  how  is  thy 
head?" — he  added,  in  a  timid  voice: — "does  it 
ache?  " 

"Yes.    Why  should  n't  it  ache?" 

Arma  Vlasievna  straightened  up,  and  pricked 
up  her  ears. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  please,  Evgeny,"— went  on 
Vasily  Ivanovitch,— "  but  wilt  not  thou  allow  me 
to  feel  thy  pulse?  " 

BazaroiF  rose  to  his  feet. — "  I  can  tell  thee, 
without  feeling  my  pulse,  that  I  have  fever." 

"  And  hast  thou  had  a  chill?  " 

"  I  have.  I  will  go  and  lie  down;  and  do  you 
send  me  some  linden  tea.  I  must  have  caught 
cold." 

"  That  explains  why  I  heard  thee  coughing  last 
night," — said  Arina  Vlasievna. 

"  I  have  taken  cold,"-  repeated  Bazaroff,  and 
left  the  room. 

828 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Arma  Vlasievna  busied  herself  with  preparing 
the  tea  from  linden  flowers,  but  Vasily  Ivanovitch 
went  into  the  adjoining  room  and  silently  tore  his 
hair. 

BazaroiF  did  not  get  up  again  that  day,  and 
spent  the  whole  night  in  a  heavy,  half -conscious 
doze.  About  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  opening 
his  eyes  with  an  eff'ort,  he  beheld  above  him,  by 
the  dim  light  of  the  shrine-lamp,  the  pale  face  of 
his  father,  and  ordered  him  to  go  away ;  the  latter 
obeyed,  but  immediately  returned  on  tiptoe,  and 
half  screening  himself  with  the  cupboard  door,  he 
gazed  at  his  son,  never  once  removing  his  eyes. 
Arina  Vlasievna  also  had  not  gone  to  bed,  and 
opening  the  door  of  the  study  a  mere  crack,  she 
kept  approaching  to  listen  "  how  Eniiisha  was 
breathing,"  and  to  look  at  Vasily  Ivanovitch.  She 
could  see  nothing  but  his  motionless,  bowed  back, 
but  even  that  afforded  her  some  solace.  In  the 
morning,  BazarofF  tried  to  rise;  he  went  to  bed 
again.  Vasfly  Ivanovitch  waited  upon  him  in 
silence;  Arma  Vlasievna  came  to  him,  and  asked 
him  how  he  felt.  He  replied :  "  Better,"  and 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  Vasily  Ivanovitch 
waved  his  wife  off  with  both  hands;  she  bit  her 
lip,  in  order  to  keep  from  crying,  and  left  the 
room.  Everything  about  the  house  seemed  sud- 
denly to  have  grown  dark;  all  faces  lengthened, 
a  strange  stillness  reigned ;  a  loud-voiced  cock  was 
carried  off  from  the  court -yard  to  the  village,  and 

329 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

for  a  long  time  could  not  understand  why  he  was 
treated  in  that  way.  BazarofF  continued  to  lie, 
nestled  up  to  the  wall.  Vasily  Ivanovitch  tried  to 
put  various  questions  to  him,  but  they  wearied  Ba- 
zaroff ,  and  the  old  man  subsided  into  silence  in  his 
arm-chair,  only  now  and  then  cracking  his  fin- 
gers. He  went  out  into  the  garden  for  a  few 
moments,  stood  there  like  a  statue,  as  though  over- 
whelmed with  inexpressible  amazement  (in  gen- 
eral the  expression  of  amazement  never  left  his 
face) ,  and  returned  again  to  his  son,  striving  to 
avoid  interrogations  from  his  wife.  At  last,  she 
seized  him  by  the  arm,  and  convulsively,  almost 
menacingly, she  said:  "But  what  ails  him?"  Then 
he  regained  his  composure,  and  forced  himself  to 
smile  at  her  in  reply;  but,  to  his  own  horror,  in- 
stead of  a  smile,  he  evoked  a  laugh  from  some- 
where within  him.  He  had  sent  for  the  doctor  at 
daybreak.  He  considered  it  necessary  to  inform 
his  son  of  this,  so  that  the  latter  might  not  wax 
angry. 

Bazaroff  suddenly  turned  over  on  the  couch, 
stared  dully  and  intently  at  his  father,  and  asked 
for  a  drink. 

Vasily  Ivanovitch  gave  him  water,  and  seized 
the  opportunity  to  feel  his  forehead. 

"  Old  man,"— began  BazarofF  in  a  hoarse,  slow 
voice,—*'  this  is  a  bad  business  of  mine.  I  am 
poisoned,  and  thou  wilt  bury  me  a  few  days 
hence." 

880 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Vasily  Ivanovitch  reeled,  as  though  some  one 
had  struck  him  a  blow  on  the  legs. 

"  Evgeny  I  "—he  stammered,—"  what  is  it  thou 
art  saying !  God  be  with  thee !  Thou  hast  caught 
cold.  .  .  ." 

"  Stop,"— Bazaroff  interrupted  him  without 
haste. — "  It  is  not  permissible  for  a  physician  to 
talk  like  that.  All  the  signs  of  infection  exist, 
thou  knowest  it  thyself." 

"  Where  are  the  signs  ....  of  infection, 
Evgeny?  .  .  .  Gracious  heavens! " 

"And  how  about  this? " — said  Bazaroff,  and 
stripping  up  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt,  he  showed  his 
father  the  ill-omened  red  spots  breaking  out. 

Vasily  Ivanovitch  shuddered,  and  turned  cold 
with  terror. — "  Let  us  assume," — he  said  at  last, 
— "let  us  assume  .  .  .  if  .  .  .  even  if  there  is 
something  in  the  nature  of  infec- 
tion .  .  .  ." 

"  Of  pyemia,"— prompted  his  son. 

"  Well,  yes  ...  in  the  nature  of an 

epidemic  .  .  .  ." 

"  Of  pyemia" — repeated  Bazaroff  gruffly  and 
distinctly :—"  can  it  be  that  thou  hast  already  for- 
gotten thy  text-books? " 

"  Well,  yes,  yes,  as  thou  wilt.  .  .  .  Neverthe- 
less, we  will  cure  thee.  .  ." 

"  Come,  that 's  humbug.  But  that  is  not  the 
point.  I  did  not  expect  that  I  should  die  so  soon ; 
that  is  a  very  disagreeable  accident,  to  speak  the 

331 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

truth.  Both  thou  and  mother  must  now  profit  by 
the  fact  that  rehgion  is  strong  in  you ;  here  's  your 
chance  to  put  it  to  the  proof." — He  took  another 
sip  of  water. — "  But  I  should  hke  to  make  one  re- 
quest of  thee  .  .  .  while  my  head  is  still  under 
my  command.  To-morrow,  or  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, as  thou  art  aware,  my  brain  will  resign 
from  duty.  Even  now  I  am  not  quite  certain 
whether  I  am  expressing  myself  clearly.  While 
I  have  been  lying  here  it  has  seemed  to  me  all  the 
while  as  though  red  dogs  were  running  around 
me,  and  that  thou  wert  making  a  point  over  me, 
as  over  a  woodcock.  It  is  exactly  as  though  I 
were  drunk.    Dost  thou  understand  me  well?  " 

"  Goodness,  Evgeny,  thou  art  talking  in  pre- 
cisely the  proper  way." 

"  So  much  the  better;  thou  hast  told  me  that 
thou  hast  sent  for  the  doctor.  .  .  Thou  hast  com- 
forted thyself  thereby;  ....  comfort  me  also: 
send  a  special  messenger " 

"To  Arkady  Nikolaitch?  "—interpolated  the 
old  man. 

"Who  is  Arkady  Nikolaitch?  "—said  Baza- 
roff,  as  though  in  doubt.  .  .  .  "  Akh,  yes!  that 
fledgling!  No,  don't  touch  him;  he  has  become 
a  full-grown  bird  now.  Do  not  be  surprised ;  this 
is  not  delirium.  But  do  thou  send  a  messenger  to 
Anna  Sergyeevna  Odmtzoff;  there  is  a  landed 
proprietress  of  that  name  yonder.  .  .  Knowest 
thou?  "  (Vasfly  Ivanovitch  nodded.)     "  Say  that 

332 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Evgeny  Bazaroff  gave  orders  to  present  his  com- 
pliments, and  order  the  man  to  say  that  he  is 
dying.    Wilt  thou  fulfil  this?  " 

"  I  will.  Only,  can  it  be  possible  that  thou 
shouldst  die,  Evgeny?  .  .  .  Judge  for  thyself  I 
Where  would  be  the  justice  after  that?  " 

"  I  don't  know;  only  send  the  messenger." 

"  I  will  send  him  this  very  minute,  and  will 
write  a  letter  myself." 

"  No,  why  shouldst  thou?  Say  that  I  gave 
orders  that  my  compliments  were  to  be  presented ; 
nothing  more  is  necessary.  And  now  I  will  go 
back  to  my  dogs.  It  is  strange !  I  try  to  fix  my 
thoughts  on  death,  and  it  comes  to  nothing.  I  see 
some  sort  of  a  spot  ....  and  that  is  all." 

Once  more  he  turned  painfully  toward  the 
wall;  but  Vasfly  Ivanovitch  left  the  study,  and 
when  he  reached  his  wife's  bed-chamber,  he  fairly 
tumbled  down  on  his  knees  before  the  holy  pic- 
tures. 

"Pray,  Arina,  pray?" — ^he  moaned:— "our 
son  is  dying." 

The  doctor — that  same  district  doctor  who  had 
no  lunar  caustic — arrived,  and,  after  examining 
the  patient,  advised  them  to  adopt  a  waiting 
policy,  and  added  a  few  words  as  to  the  possi- 
bility of  recovery. 

"  But  did  you  ever  happen  to  see  people  in  my 
situation  fail  to  betake  themselves  to  the  Elysian 
Fields?  "—inquired     Bazaroff,     and,     suddenly 

333 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

grasping  the  leg  of  a  heavy  table,  which  stood 
near  the  divan,  he  shook  the  table  and  moved  it 
from  its  place. 

"  The  strength,  the  strength  is  all  there  still," 
—he  said,— "  but  I  must  die!  ....  An  old  man 
has,  at  least,  succeeded  in  weaning  himself  from 
life,  while  I  .  .  .  .  But  come,  just  try  to  contra- 
dict death.  It  contradicts  thee,  and  that  ends  the 
matter!  Who  is  weeping  there?  " — he  added, 
after  a  brief  pause. — "  Mother?  Poor  thing! 
Whom  will  she  feed  now  with  her  wonderful  beet- 
soup?  And  thou  also,  Vasily  Ivanitch,  I  believe 
thou  art  whimpering  too?  Well,  if  Christianity 
does  not  help,  be  a  philosopher,  a  stoic!  I  be- 
lieve thou  wert  boasting  of  being  a  philosopher?  " 
"  Much  of  a  philosopher  I  am!  "  roared  Vasily 
Ivanovitch,  and  the  tears  fairly  dripped  down  his 
cheeks. 

'^       BazarofF  grew  worse  with  every  passing  hour; 

'  the  malady  took  a  swift  course,  which  usually  hap- 
pens in  cases  of  surgical  poisoning.  He  had  not, 
as  yet,  lost  consciousness,  and  understood  what 
was  said  to  him;  he  still  struggled.  "  I  will  not 
be  delirious,"— he  whispered,  clenching  his  fists; 
— "  what  nonsense!  "  And  immediately  he  said: 
"  Well,  and  if  from  eight  you  subtract  ten,  how 
many  will  remain?  "—Vasily  Ivanovitch  walked 
about  like  a  crazy  person,  suggested  now  one  rem- 
edy, now  another,  and  did  nothing  but  keep  cov- 
ering his  son's  feet.    "  He  must  be  wrapped  up 

834 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

in  cold  sheets  .  .  .  nausea  ....  mustard  plas- 
ters on  his  stomach  ....  blood-letting,"— he 
said,  with  an  effort.  The  doctor,  whom  he  had 
implored  to  remain,  humoured  him,  gave  the  pa- 
tient lemonade,  and  for  himself  asked  now  a  pipe, 
now  "  something  strengthening  and  warming," 
that  is  to  say,  vodka.  Arina  Vlasievna  sat  on  a 
low  bench  near  the  door,  and  only  now  and  then 
went  away  to  pray;  a  few  days  previously  her 
toilet  mirror  had  slipped  out  of  her  hands  and 
been  broken,  and  she  had  always  regarded  this  as 
a  bad  sign;  even  Anfisushka  was  not  able  to  say 
anything  comforting  to  her.  Timofeitch  had 
gone  to  Madame  Odintzoff .  \ 

The  night  was  bad  for  BazarofF.  .  .  .  He  was  ) 
tortured  by  a  violent  fever.  Toward  morning  he 
was  resting  more  easily.  He  asked  that  Arina 
Vlasievna  might  brush  his  hair,  kissed  her  hand, 
and  drank  a  couple  of  mouthfuls  of  tea.  Vasily 
Ivanovitch  revived  somewhat. 

"Thank  God!"— he  kept  repeating;— "  the 
crisis  has  come  ....  the  crisis  has  come!  " 

"  Eka,  what  art  thou  thinking  of?  " — said  Ba- 
zarofF:— "  what  does  that  word  signify?  He  has 
hit  upon  it;  he  has  said,  '  the  crisis,'  and  is  com- 
forted. It  is  astounding  how  a  man  still  has  faith 
in  words.  If  people  call  him  a  fool,  for  example, 
and  yet  do  not  beat  him,  he  grows  melancholy ;  if 
they  call  him  a  clever  fellow,  and  yet  give  him  no 
money, — he  feels  satisfaction." 

835 


/ 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

This  little  speech  of  BazarofF's,  which  recalled 
his  former  "  sallies,"  touched  Vasily  Ivanovitch. 

"Bravo!  Splendidly  said,  splendidly!  "—he 
exclaimed,  pretending  to  clap  his  hands. 

BazarofF  laughed  sadly. 

"  Well  then,  according  to  thy  opinion," — he 
said, — "  is  the  crisis  past,  or  is  it  beginning?  " 

"  Thou  art  better,  that  is  what  I  see,  that  is 
what  delights  me," — replied  Vasfly  Ivanovitch. 

"  Well,  very  good ;  it  is  never  a  bad  thing  to  re- 
joice. And  hast  thou  sent  to  her?  thou  remem- 
berest?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

The  change  for  the  better  did  not  last  long. 
The  assaults  of  the  malady  were  renewed.  Vasily 
Ivanovitch  sat  by  BazarofF's  side.  It  seemed  as 
though  some  special  anguish  were  torturing  the 
old  man.  Several  times  he  was  on  the  point  of 
speaking — and  could  not. 

"Evgeny!" — he  blurted  out  at  last: — "my 
son,  my  dear,  precious  son." 

This  unusual  appeal  took  efFect  upon  BazarofF. 
....  He  turned  his  head  a  little,  and,  evidently 
striving  to  escape  from  beneath  the  burden  of 
oblivion  which  was  weighing  him  down,  he  articu- 
lated:—"  What,  my  father?  " 

"  Evgeny," — went  on  Vasily  Ivanovitch,  and 
sank  down  on  his  knees  beside  BazarofF,  although 
the  latter  did  not  open  his  eyes,  and  did  not  see 
him.—"  Evgeny,  thou  art  better  now;  God  grant 

336 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

that  thou  may  est  recover;  but  take  advantage  of 
this  time,  comfort  thy  mother  and  me,  fulfil  thy 
Christian  duty!  It  is  terrible  for  me  to  say  this 
to  thee;  but  it  is  still  more  terrible  .  .  .  forever, 
thou  knowest,  Evg6ny  .  .  .  reflect,  what " 

The  old  man's  voice  broke,  and  a  strange  ex- 
pression crept  across  the  face  of  his  son,  although 
he  continued  to  lie  with  closed  eyes. — "  I  do  not 
refuse,  if  it  can  give  you  comfort," — he  said  at 
last;  "  but  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  no  need  of 
haste  as  yet.  Thou  thyself  sayest  that  I  am 
better." 

"  Thou  art  better,  Evgeny,  thou  art  better;  but 
who  knows,  for  all  that  depends  upon  the  will  of 
God,  and  when  thou  hast  fulfilled  thy  duty " 

"No,  I  will  wait,"— interrupted  Bazaroff.— "  I 
agree  with  thee  that  the  crisis  has  arrived.  But  if 
we  are  both  mistaken,  what  then  ?  They  give  the 
pommunion  to  the  unconscious  also." 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  Evgeny.  .  .  ." 

"  I  will  wait.  And  now  I  want  to  sleep.  Don't 
disturb  me." 

And  he  laid  his  head  in  its  former  position. 

The  old  man  rose,  seated  himself  in  the  arm- 
chair, and  gripping  his  chin,  began  to  bite  his 
fingers.  .  . 

The  rumble  of  a  carriage  with  springs,*  that 
sound  which  is  peculiarly  noticeable  in  the  depths 

1  On  account  of  the  bad  roads,  most  carriages  for  country  use  are 
built  without  springs.  —Translator. 

337 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

of  the  country,  suddenly  struck  his  ear.  Nearer, 
nearer  rolled  the  light  wheels ;  and  now  the  snort- 
ing of  horses  was  audible.  .  .  .  Vasily  Ivanovitch 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  rushed  to  the  window.  A 
two-seated  carriage,  drawn  by  four  horses,  was 
driving  into  the  court-yard  of  his  tiny  house. 
Without  pausing  to  consider  what  this  might  sig- 
nify, he  ran  out  on  the  porch,  in  an  outburst  of 
senseless  joy.  ...  A  liveried  lackey  opened  the 
carriage  door;  a  lady  with  a  black  veil  and  a  black 
mantle  alighted  from  it.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  Madame  Odintzoff,"— she  said.—"  Is 
Evgeny  Vasilitch  alive?  You  are  his  father? 
I  have  brought  a  doctor  with  mci" 

"Benefactress!" — exclaimed  Vasily  Ivano- 
vitch, and  seizing  her  hand,  he  pressed  it  con- 
vulsively to  his  lips,  while  the  doctor  whom  Anna 
Sergyeevna  had  brought,  a  small  man  in  specta- 
cles, with  a  German  physiognomy,  alighted  in  a 
leisurely  way  from  the  carriage.  "  He  is  still 
alive;  my  Evgeny  is  alive,  and  now  he  will  be 
saved!  Wife!  wife!  .  .  .  An  angel  from  heaven 
has  come  to  us.  .  .  ." 

"What  is  it,  O  Lord!  "—stammered  the  old 
woman,  as  she  ran  out  of  the  drawing-room,  and 
comprehending  nothing  then  and  there  in  the 
anteroom,  fell  at  the  feet  of  Anna  Sergyeevna, 
and  began,  like  a  mad  woman,  to  kiss  her  gown. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  What  are  you  doing?  " 
—Anna  Sergyeevna  kept  reiterating;  but  Arina 

338 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Vlasievna  paid  no  heed  to  her,  and  Vasily  Ivano- 
vitch  merely  repeated:  "An  angel!  an  angel!" 

"  Wo  ist  der  Kranke?  And  where  is  the  pa- 
tient? "  said  the  doctor  at  last,  not  without  some 
indignation. 

Vasily  Ivanovitch  came  to  his  senses. — "  Here, 
here,  please  follow  me,  werthester  Herr  Kollege" 
— he  added,  reviving  an  ancient  memory. 

"  Eh!  "—ejaculated  the  German,  and  made  a 
sour  grimace. 

Vasily  Ivanovitch  conducted  him  to  the  study. 

"  The  doctor  from  Anna  Sergyeevna  Odin- 
tzoff," — he  said,  bending  down  to  his  son's  very 
ear; — "  and  she  is  here  herself." 

Bazaroif  suddenly  opened  his  eyes. — "  What 
didst  thou  say? " 

"  I  say  that  Anna  Sergyeevna  Odintzoif  is 
here,  and  has  brought  her  doctor  to  thee." 

Bazaroff  gazed  about  him. — "  She  is  here.  .  . 
I  want  to  see  her." 

"  Thou  shalt  see  her,  Evgeny ;  but  first  the  doc- 
tor and  I  must  have  a  talk.  I  will  narrate  to  him 
the  whole  history  of  thy  illness,  since  Sidor 
Sidoritch "  (this  was  the  name  of  the  district 
physician)  "  has  gone  away,  and  we  will  hold  a 
little  consultation." 

Bazaroff  glanced  at  the  German.—"  Well, 
have  your  talk  as  quickly  as  possible,  only  not  in 
Latin,  for  I  understand  the  meaning  of  jam 
moritur" 

339 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

"  Der  Herr  scheint  des  Deutschen  mdcJitig  zu 
sein"— began  the  new  disciple  of  ^sculapius 
turning  to  Vasily  Ivanovitch. 

"  Ich  ....  habe  .  .  .  you  had  better  talk 
Russian,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Ah,  ah !  so  dat  's  de  vay  it  ees.  .  .  As  j  ou  like 
.  .  ."  And  the  consultation  began. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Anna  Sergyeevna,  escorted 
by  Vasily  Ivanovitch,  entered  the  room.  The  doc- 
tor had  contrived  to  whisper  to  her  that  the  recov- 
ery of  the  sick  man  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

She  cast  a  glance  at  Bazaroff  .  .  .  and  halted 
at  the  door,  so  startled  was  she  by  his  swollen  and, 
at  the  same  time,  corpse-Hke  face,  with  its  dimmed 
eyes  riveted  upon  her.  She  was  simply  fright- 
ened, with  a  sort  of  cold  and  insufferable  dread; 
the  thought  that  she  would  not  have  felt  Hke 
that  if  she  were  really  in  love  with  him,  flashed 
instantaneously  through  her  mind. 

"  Thank  you,"— he  said,  with  an  effort;—"  I 
did  not  expect  this.  It  is  a  good  deed.  So  we 
have  met  again,  as  you  promised." 

"  Anna  Sergyeevna  has  been  so  kind,"— began 
Vasfly  Ivanovitch. 

"  Father,  leave  us.— Anna  Sergyeevna,  you 
permit  me?    I  think  that  now  .  .  ." 

He  indicated  his  feeble,  outstretched  body  with 
a  movement  of  his  head. 

Vasily  Ivanovitch  withdrew. 

"  Thanks,"— repeated  Bazdroff.— "  This  is  a 
340 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

deed  in  royal  style.  They  say  that  Tzars  also 
visit  the  dying." 

"  Evgeny  Vasilitch,  I  hope  .  .  .  ." 

"  Ekh,  Anna  Sergyeevna,  let  us  speak  the 
truth.  I  am  done  for.  I  have  fallen  under  the 
wheel.  And  it  turns  out  that  there  was  no  need 
to  think  of  the  future.  Death  is  an  ancient  jest, 
but  new  to  each  person.  So  far,  I  am  not  afraid 
....  and  then  unconsciousness  will  come,  and 
fuit!"  (He  waved  his  hand  feebly.) —"  Well, 
what 's  the  use  of  my  saying  to  you  .  .  .  .'  I  love 
you  '  I  That  had  no  sense  before,  much  less  now. 
Love  is  a  form,  and  my  own  form  is  already  de- 
composing. I  had  better  say  that — what  a  splen- 
did woman  you  are !  And  now  you  stand  there,  so 
beautiful.  ..." 

Anna  Sergyeevna  involuntarily  shuddered. 

"  Never  mind,  be  not  disturbed  ....  sit  down 
there.  .  .  Don't  come  near  me:  for  my  malady 
is  contagious." 

Anna  Sergyeevna  swiftly  crossed  the  room  and 
seated  herself  in  an  arm-chair  beside  the  divan 
on  which  Bazar  off  lay. 

"  Magnanimous !  "  —  he  whispered.  "  Okh, 
how  near,  and  how  young,  and  fresh,  and  pure 
....  in  this  hateful  room!  ....  Well,  good- 
bye! may  you  live  long;  that  is  the  best  thing  of 
all;  and  enjoy  yourself  while  yet  there  is  time. 
Behold,  what  a  disgusting  spectacle :  the  worm  is 
half  crushed,  yet  it  bristles  up.    And,  you  see,  I 

341 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

thought  also :  I  will  yet  accomplish  many  deeds ;  I 
shall  not  die — not  I!  there  's  the  aim,  for  I  am 
a  giant!  And  now  the  giant's  whole  problem 
is  to  die  decorously,  although  no  one  cares  about 

that It  makes  no  diiFerence;  I  will  not 

evade  the  issue." 

BazarofF  ceased  speaking  and  began  to  feel  for 
his  glass.  Anna  Sergyeevna  gave  him  a  drink, 
without  removing  her  glove,  and  breathing  timor- 
ously the  while. 

"You  will  forget  me," — he  began  again; — 
"  the  dead  is  no  fit  comrade  for  the  living.  My 
father  will  tell  you,  '  Just  see  what  a  man  Russia 
is  losing.'  .  .  .  That  is  nonsense,  but  do  not  un- 
deceive the  old  man.  Anything  for  the  sake  of 
soothing  the  child  ....  you  know.  And  treat 
my  mother  kindly.  For  such  people  as  they  are 
not  to  be  found  in  your  grand  society,  even  in  the 

day-time  with  a  light I  am  necessary  to 

Russia.  .  .  .  No,  evidently,  I  am  not  necessary. 
And  who  is?  A  shoemaker  is  necessary,  a  tailor 
is  necessary,  so  is  a  butcher ;  ....  he  sells  meat, 
....  a  butcher;  ....  stay,  I  am  getting 
mixed  up Yonder  is  a  forest  .  .  ." 

Bazaroff  laid  his  hand  on  his  brow. 

Anna  Sergyeevna  bent  toward  him. — "  Ev- 
geny  Vasilitch,  I  am  here  .  .  .  ." 

He  instantly  clasped  her  hand  and  half  sat  up. 
— "  Farewell,"— he  said,  with  sudden  force,  and 
his  eyes  flashed  with  their  last  gleam. — "  Fare- 

342 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

well.  .  .  Listen  ....  you  know,  I  did  not  kiss 
you  then.  .  .  .  Breathe  upon  the  expiring  lamp, 
and  let  it  be  extinguished " 

Anna  Sergyeevna  touched  her  lips  to  his  brow. 

"  Enough!  "—he  said,  and  dropped  back  on  his 
pillow.—"  Now  ....  darkness  ..." 

Anna  Sergyeevna  softly  left  the  room. — 
"  Well? "— Vasily  Ivanovitch  asked  her  in  a 
whisper. 

"  He  has  fallen  asleep,"— she  replied,  in  a 
barely  audible  tone. 

Bazaroff  was  not  fated  to  wake  again.  To- 
ward evening  he  fell  into  complete  unconscious- 
ness, and  on  the  following  day  he  died.  Father 
Alexyei  performed  over  him  the  rites  of  religion. 
When  he  was  anointed,^  when  the  holy  chrism 
touched  his  breast,  one  of  his  eyes  opened,  and 
it  seemed  as  though,  at  the  sight  of  the  priest  in 
his  vestments,  of  the  smoking  censer,  the  light  in 
front  of  the  holy  picture,  something  resembling 
a  shudder  of  fear  was  reflected  on  the  dying  face. 
When  at  last  he  breathed  his  last  sigh,  and  uni- 
versal groaning  arose  in  the  house,  Vasfly  Iva- 
novitch was  seized  with  a  sudden  transport  of  vio- 
lence. "  I  said  that  I  would  repine," — he  shouted 
hoarsely,  with  a  flaming,  distorted  countenance, 
shaking  his  fist  in  the  air,  as  though  he  were  men- 

^  The  Rite  of  Holy  Unction  in  the  Catholic  Church  of  the  East  differs 
from  Extreme  Unction  in  the  Roman  Church,  in  that  (among  other 
points)  it  may  be  €idministered  when  the  sufferer  is  not  expected  to 
die:  for  healing  only,  in  the  Apostolic  sense. — Translator. 

343 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

acing  some  one.  "  And  I  will  repine,  I  will  re- 
pine !  "  But  Arina  Vlasievna,  all  in  tears,  flung 
herself  upon  his  neck,  and  both  fell  on  their  knees. 
— "  So,'*— as  Anfisushka  afterward  narrated  in 
the  servants'  hall,—"  they  bowed  their  heads  side 
by  side,  Hke  sheep  at  noonday.  .  .  ." 

But  the  midday  heat  passes  and  evening  draws 
on,  and  the  night,  and  then  comes  the  return  to 
the  quiet  refuge,  where  the  suffering  and  the 
weaxy  find  sweet  repose 


344 


XXVIII 

Six  months  have  passed.  The  white  winter  has 
come,  with  its  stern  stilhiess  of  cloudless  frosts, 
dense  creaking  snow,  rosy  hoar-frost  on  the  trees, 
pale-emerald  sky,  caps  of  smoke  above  the  chim- 
neys, clumps  of  steam  from  the  doors  opened  for  a 
moment,  the  fresh  faces,  as  though  bitten,  of  the 
people,  and  the  bustling  trot  of  benumbed  horses. 
The  January  day  is  already  drawing  to  its  close ; 
the  evening  chill  is  seizing  the  motionless  air  in  a 
still  tighter  grip,  and  the  blood-red  sunset  is  dy- 
ing out.  The  lights  have  been  kindled  in  the  win- 
dows of  the  house  at  Marino;  Prokofitch,  in  a 
black  dress  suit  and  white  gloves,  is  laying  the 
table  for  seven  persons.  A  week  previously,  in 
the  little  parish  church,  quietly,  and  almost  with- 
out witnesses,  two  weddings  had  taken  place: 
Arkady's  to  Katya,  and  Nikolai  Petrovitch's  to 
Fenitchka;  and  on  the  day  in  question 
Nikolai  Petrovitch  is  giving  a  farewell  din- 
ner for  his  brother,  who  is  about  to  take  his 
departure  for  Moscow  on  business.  Anna 
Sergyeevna  had  gone  thither  also  immediately 
after  the  wedding,  after  having  lavishly  endowed 
the  young  couple.    Precisely  at  three  o'clock  all 

845 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

assembled  round  the  table.  Mitya  was  placed 
there  also;  he  had  been  provided  with  a  nurse,  in 
a  glazed  brocade  coronet-cap.  Pavel  Petrovitch 
took  his  seat  between  Katya  and  Fenitchka:  the 
"  husbands  "  settled  themselves  beside  their  wives. 
Our  acquaintances  have  changed  of  late:  all  of 
them  seem  to  have  grown  handsomer  and  more 
manly;  Pavel  Petrovitch  alone  has  grown  thin, 
which,  however,  has  imparted  still  more  elegance 
and  grand-seigneurism  to  his  expressive  features. 
.  .  .  And  Fenitchka  also  has  become  a  different 
person.  In  a  fresh  silken  gown,  with  a  gold  chain 
on  her  neck,  she  sat  with  respectful  composure, — 
respectful  toward  herself,  toward  everything 
which  surrounded  her,  and  smiled,  as  though  she 
wished  to  say:  "  You  must  excuse  me,  I  am  not 
to  blame."  And  not  she  alone,  but  all  the  others 
smiled  also,  and  seemed  to  be  excusing  them- 
selves ;  all  felt  somewhat  awkward,  somewhat  sad, 
and,  in  reahty,  very  comfortable.  Each  one  lis- 
tened to  the  other  with  amusing  amiability,  as 
though  all  of  them  had  entered  into  an  agreement 
to  play  some  artless  comedy.  Katya  was  more 
composed  than  all  the  rest :  she  gazed  confidingly 
about  her,  and  was  able  to  observe  that  Nikolai 
Petrovitch  had  already  succeeded  in  falling  head 
over  ears  in  love  with  her.  Before  the  end  of  the 
dinner  he  rose,  and  taking  his  wine-glass  in  hand, 
he  addressed  himself  to  Pavel  Petrovitch : 

"  Thou  art  leaving  us  ...  .  thou  art  leaving 
346 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

us,  my  dear  brother,"— he  began:— "of  course, 
not  for  long;  but,  nevertheless,  I  cannot  refrain 
from  expressing  to  thee  that  I  .  .  .  .  that  we 
....  so  far  as  I  ....  so  far  as  we  ...  . 
That 's  the  difficulty,  that  we  do  not  know  how  to 
make  speeches!    Arkady,  do  thou  speak!" 

"  No,  papa,  I  am  not  prepared." 

"  And  I  prepared  myself  finely !  Simply  then, 
brother,  permit  me  to  embrace  thee,  to  wish  thee 
all  that  is  good,  and  return  to  us  as  speedily  as 
possible ! " 

Pavel  Petrovitch  kissed  all  present,  not  exclud- 
ing Mitya,  of  course;  over  and  above  this,  he 
kissed  Fenitchka's  hand,  which  she  did  not  know 
how  to  offer  properly,  and  draining  his  glass, 
which  had  been  filled  for  the  second  time,  he  said, 
with  a  profound  sigh:  "  Be  happy,  my  friends! 
Farewell!" — This  English  tail  to  his  speech 
passed  unnoticed,  but  all  were  touched. 

"  In  memory  of  Bazaroff,"— whispered  Katya 
in  her  husband's  ear,  as  she  clinked  glasses  with 
him.  In  reply,  Arkady  pressed  her  hand  warmly, 
but  could  not  bring  himself  to  propose  that  toast 
aloud. 

This  would  appear  to  be  the  end?  But  per- 
chance some  one  of  our  readers  would  like  to 
know  what  each  one  of  the  persons  whom  we  have 
introduced  is  doing  now,  precisely  at  the  present 
moment.    We  are  ready  to  gratify  him. 

Anna  Sergyeevna  has  recently  married,  not  for 

347 


FATHERS   AND   CHILDREN 

love,  but  from  conviction,  one  of  the  future  promi- 
nent men  of  Russia,  a  very  clever  man,  a  lawyer 
with  strong  practical  sense,  a  firm  will,  and  a  re- 
markable gift  of  words, — a  man  who  is  still 
young,  kind,  and  cold  as  ice.  They  live  on  good 
terms  with  each  other,  and  will,  in  all  probability, 
attain  to  happiness  .  .  .  perchance  to  love.  Prin- 
cess X.  .  .  has  died,  forgotten  on  the  very  day  of 
her  death.  The  KirsanofF's,  father  and  son,  have 
settled  down  in  Marino.  Their  affairs  are  begin- 
ning to  right  themselves.  Arkady  has  become  an 
ardent  farmer,  and  the  "  farm  "  already  yields 
a  fairly  large  income.  Nikolai  Petrovitch  has 
been  made  an  Arbitrator  of  the  Peace,^  and  toils 
with  all  his  might;  he  is  incessantly  travelling 
about  over  his  section;  he  makes  long  speeches  (he 
is  of  the  opinion  that  the  peasants  must  be 
"  taught,"  that  is  to  say,  they  must  be  reduced  to 
a  state  of  exhaustion  by  frequent  repetition  of  one 
and  the  same  set  of  words),  and,  nevertheless,  to 
tell  the  truth,  he  does  not  wholly  satisfy  either 
the  cultivated  nobles,  who  talk  now  with  chic  and 
again  with  melancholy,  about  the  mancipation 
(pronouncing  the  man  through  their  noses),  nor 
the  uneducated  nobles,  who  unceremoniously  re- 
vile '*  ihot  mttwcipation."  He  is  too  tender  to  suit 
either  party.     A  son,  Kolya,  has  been  born  to 

*  A  class  of  officials,  appointed  after  the  emancipation  of  the  serfs, 
to  adjust  the  questions  which  arose  between  the  landed  proprietors 
and  the  serfs  as  to  the  division  of  the  land.— Translator. 

84.8 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

Katerina  Sergyeevna,  and  Mitya  is  already  run- 
ning about  like  a  fine,  dashing  fellow,  and  chat- 
ters volubly.  Fenitchka  (Fedosya  Nikolaevna) 
adores  no  one — after  her  husband  and  son — so 
much  as  her  daughter-in-law,  and  when  the  latter 
seats  herself  at  the  piano  she  is  delighted  not  to 
leave  her  all  day  long.  By  the  way,  let  us  make 
mention  of  Piotr.  He  has  stiffened  up  for  good, 
with  stupidity  and  pompousness,  pronounces 
every  e  like  iu:  tiwpiur,  obiuzpiutchiun,^  but  he 
also  has  married,  and  acquired  a  very  respectable 
dowry  with  his  bride,  the  daughter  of  a  market- 
gardener  in  the  town,  who  refused  two  fine  suit- 
ors, merely  because  they  did  not  possess  watches : 
but  Piotr  not  only  had  a  watch,  but  patent-leather 
half -boots  into  the  bargain. 

In  Dresden,  on  the  Briihl  terrace,  between  two 
and  four  o'clock,  at  the  most  fashionable  time  for 
promenading,  you  may  meet  a  man  about  fifty 
years  of  age,  who  is  already  completely  grey,  and 
seems  to  be  suffering  from  gout,  but  is  still  hand- 
some, elegantly  attired,  and  with  that  peculiar 
stamp  which  a  man  acquires  only  by  long  asso- 
ciation with  the  highest  classes  of  society.  This 
man  is  Pavel  Petrovitch.  He  has  quitted  Mos- 
cow and  gone  abroad  to  restore  his  health,  and 
has  taken  up  his  residence  in  Dresden,  where  he 
consorts  mostly  with  the  English  and  with  travel- 

^  Instead  of  tep^  (now);  obezpetchen  (provided  for). — Tkaxslator. 

349 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

ling  Russians.  With  the  English,  his  manner  is 
simple,  almost  modest,  yet  not  lacking  in  dignity ; 
they  find  him  rather  tiresome,  but  respect  in  him 
a  perfect  gentleman.  With  the  Russians  he  is 
more  at  his  ease,  gives  free  play  to  his  bile,  sneers 
at  himself  and  at  them ;  but  all  this  is  very  charm- 
ing, and  careless,  and  decorous,  as  he  does  it.  He 
entertains  Slavyanophil  views:  every  one  knows 
that  this  is  considered  tres  distingue  in  the  upper 
circles.  He  never  reads  anything  in  Russian,  but 
on  his  writing-table  there  is  a  silver  ash-tray  in 
the  form  of  a  peasant's  bast  slipper.  Our  tourists 
run  after  him  a  great  deal.  Matvyei  Hitch  Kol- 
yazin,  when  he  was  in  temporary  opposition,  paid 
him  a  majestic  visit,  as  he  was  passing  through 
on  his  way  to  a  Bohemian  watering-place;  and 
the  natives,  with  whom,  however,  he  has  very  httle 
to  do,  fairly  revere  him.  No  one  can  obtain  a 
ticket  for  the  Court  Choir,  the  theatre,  and  so 
forth,  so  easily  and  so  quickly  as  der  Herr  Baron 
von  Kirsdnoff.  He  always  does  as  much  good  as 
can;  he  still  makes  some  noise:  not  for  nothing 
had  he  once  been  a  lion; — but  life  is  painful  for 
him — more  painful  than  he  himself  suspects. 
.  .  .  One  needs  but  to  watch  him  in  the  Russian 
church,  when,  leaning  against  the  wall,  apart,  he 
falls  into  thought,  and  does  not  move  for  a  long 
time,  bitterly  setting  his  teeth,  then  suddenly  he 
comes  to  himself,  and  begins,  almost  impercepti- 
bly, to  cross  himself.  .  .  . 

Madame  Kukshfn  also  has  gone  abroad.     She 
350 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

is  now  in  Heidelberg,  and  is  studying  the  natural 
sciences  no  more,  but  architecture,  in  which,  ac- 
cording to  her  statement,  she  has  discovered  new 
laws.  As  of  yore,  she  haunts  the  society  of  stu- 
dents, especially  that  of  the  young  Russian  physi- 
cists and  chemists,  with  whom  Heidelberg  is  filled, 
and  who,  after  at  first  amazing  the  simple-minded 
German  professors  with  their  sober  views  of 
things,  afterward  amaze  those  same  professors 
with  their  utter  idleness  and  absolute  laziness. 
With  two  or  three  chemists  of  this  description, 
who  cannot  distinguish  oxygen  from  nitrogen, 
but  are  filled  full  of  self-abnegation  and  respect 
for  themselves,  and  with  the  great  EHsyevitch, 
Sitnikofi",  who  also  is  preparing  to  be  great,  is 
sauntering  about  Petersburg,  and,  according  to 
his  own  statement,  is  carrying  on  Bazaroff's 
"  cause."  It  is  said  that  some  one  recently  gave 
him  a  thrashing,  but  he  did  not  remain  in  debt: 
in  an  obscure  little  article,  inserted  in  an  ob- 
scure little  newspaper,  he  hinted  that  the  man  who 
had  thrashed  him  was  a  coward.  He  calls  this 
irony.  His  father  torments  him,  as  of  yore,  and 
his  wife  considers  him  a  fool  .  .  .  and  a  literary 
man. 

There  is  a  small  village  cemetery  in  one  of  the 
remote  corners  of  Russia.  Like  almost  all  our 
cemeteries,  it  presents  a  sorry  aspect:  the  trench 
which  surrounds  it  has  long  since  been  overgrown ; 
the  grey  wooden  crosses  have  drooped  and  are  rot- 
ting beneath  their  penthouses,  which  once  were 


FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN 

painted;  the  stone  slabs  are  all  out  of  place,  as 
though  some  one  were  thrusting  them  up  from  be- 
low; two  or  three  denuded  trees  barely  afford  a 
scanty  shade;  sheep  wander  unchecked  over  the 
graves. — But  among  these  there  is  one,  which  no 
man  touches,  which  no  beast  tramples  on:  only 
the  birds  alight  upon  it  and  carol  at  the  dawn. 
An  iron  raihng  surrounds  it ;  two  young  fir-trees 
are  planted  at  each  end  of  it :  Evgeny  BazaroiF  is 
buried  in  that  grave.  Thither,  from  the  hamlet 
hard  by,  two  old  people,  already  decrepit— hus- 
band and  wife — come  frequently.  Supporting 
each  other,  they  advance  with  painful  tread ;  they 
approach  the  railing,  fall  upon  their  knees,  and 
weep  long  and  bitterly,  and  gaze  long  and  atten- 
tively at  the  dumb  stone,  beneath  which  lies  their 
son ;  they  exchange  a  brief  word,  remove  the  dust 
from  the  stone,  adjust  the  branches  of  the  fir- 
trees,  and  again  fall  to  praying,  and  cannot  quit 
that  spot,  where  they  seem  to  be  nearer  to  their 
son,  to  their  memories  of  him.  .  .  Can  it  be  that 
their  prayers,  their  tears,  are  fruitless  ?  Can  it  be 
that  love,  holy,  devoted  love,  is  not  all-powerful? 
Oh,  no!  However  passionate,  sinful,  rebeUious, 
may  be  the  heart  which  has  taken  refuge  in  the 
grave,  the  flowers  which  grow  upon  it  gaze  tran- 
quilly at  us  with  their  innocent  eyes :  not  alone  of 
eternal  repose  do  they  speak  to  us,  of  that  great 
repose  of  "  indifferent  "  nature;  they  speak  also 
of  eternal  reconciliation  and  of  life  everlasting. . . 


352 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

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